Somebody Else's Page
by abc79-de
Summary: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers. Story title from a Modest Mouse song, called Missed the Boat .
1. Looking Towards the Future

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Looking Towards the Future

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory Gilmore stared at the heap of clothing that she'd pulled from her closet piece by piece. She had separately dismissed every last garment for a variety of reasons, but mostly due to her own inability to choose given her nervous excitement surrounding the event she needed the perfect outfit for. Nothing was good enough—nothing was just right. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed, tapping her foot anxiously as she stared at all the clothes she'd deemed worthy to make the trip from her childhood home to college with disdain.

"Gilmore House of Horrors," her mother chirped by way of greeting.

"I need advice," Rory said without missing a beat.

"Boys, hair, or clothes?" Lorelai asked instantly, trying to get a handle on her daughter's set of needs. Rory may have moved out of her house and into a dorm room, but it hadn't severed her need for her mother completely. It was a perk to their having been best friends as well direct relations. For better or worse, nothing had ever been off limits for their long and often crazy conversations.

"Clothes," Rory said, giving a slight smile at her mother's ability to narrow the options so quickly, even without seeing the carnage of fabric with her own eyes.

"Go on," Lorelai encouraged.

Rory gave a dramatic sigh. "My clothes scream college student."

"Well, it's better than two-dollar hooker," Lorelai mused. "Besides, you are a college student, which makes your clothes correct, if not unusually chatty."

Rory's back stiffened. "But tomorrow I'm not a college student. Tomorrow I'm an intern."

"So you need Monica Lewinsky's clothes?" Lorelai posed.

"Ew, no! I need clothes that subtly proclaim that I'm a newspaper woman."

"Your clothes are very loquacious," Lorelai teased her.

"I need professional clothes. I can't wear any of this. I should have gone shopping," Rory said with a sigh.

"I would be happy to go shopping with you," Lorelai offered. "It's practically my calling."

"Before tomorrow morning?" Rory asked, her voice dangerously close to a whine.

"You got me there. I know of no all-night clothing stores that cater to newspaper women. You must have something," Lorelai said. "Besides, they know you're a college student. Most interns are, or were quite recently. As long as you don't show up looking like a two-dollar hooker, no one will notice your clothes."

"I want to be noticed. I want to show up and wow them and make them wonder what they ever did without me," Rory explained her best-case dream scenario. She'd been having all kinds of dreams, since she got word that she had been chosen for the intern position at the _Stamford Gazette_. She'd dreamed that she was promoted to managing editor by the end of her first day, but she'd also had dreams that involved her showing up naked, late, and another where she'd been fired for not being able to find a pencil.

"I'm glad you've kept your expectations reasonable," Lorelai said as she failed to stifle her amusement.

"This internship will set the tone for my journalistic career. The people I impress here will be the ones to write recommendations to even more influential people at even bigger papers, when I'm out of college and can't afford to provide my services for unlimited quantities of coffee from the break room."

"I've always dreamed of being paid in coffee," Lorelai said dreamily.

"That's the message you gleamed from my last statement?" Rory gruffed.

"You have your dreams and I have mine," Lorelai said in her defense. "I'm sure you will win over everyone in Stamford, from the copy guy to the head editor dude," Lorelai said with the utmost assurance in her overachiever daughter. "But possibly it might suffice to win them all over gradually and not scare them with your exuberance, well intentioned as it may be."

"Head editor dude?" Rory asked in abject horror.

"You get my drift. We don't all have to live up to your insanely correct terminology standards," Lorelai countered.

"And it's not just some head editor dude. Do you know who just acquired the _Stamford Gazette_?" Rory asked, in a tone that most women reserved for highly salacious gossip.

"Donald Trump?" Lorelai asked with renewed interest.

"No. Why would he buy the _Stamford Gazette_?" Rory asked.

"I don't know. He acquires things."

"Mitchum Huntzberger," Rory supplied.

"I don't know who that is. The story works better if it's Donald Trump. People know Donald Trump."

"Newspaper people know Mitchum Huntzberger. His family owns a dozen papers. He's the guy in the business you want to impress. He knows everyone and he's done everything."

"But he just owns it, right? Guys that big don't work at the papers," Lorelai said gently.

Rory shook her head. "No, he's totally hands on. He likes to get involved with his investments, especially new acquisitions. He'll be there. I might not get any face time with him, as I'll be fetching coffee and fixing the printer."

"Maybe he'll need coffee. Or have trouble printing something," Lorelai suggested.

"One can hope. But I can't bring him coffee in any of these clothes."

"None of them? What about the skirt you stole from me?"

"I did not steal that skirt. I reclaimed my rightful property."

"So you do have it!" Lorelai said in an accusatory manner. "I was going to wear it to dinner last night."

"I think Luke's pretty much seen you in your entire wardrobe at this point," Rory reasoned.

"He hasn't seen me in that skirt," Lorelai said, playing up her disappointment.

"As if Luke can tell one of your skirts from another."

"He does respond more to things that are short and black," Lorelai said with a devilish grin and a certain lilt to her voice.

"That skirt is knee-length and brown."

"It would have gone really great with my blue sweater. He also responds to things that are tight and low-cut in the chest region."

"I don't feel comfortable with my clothes being used for these purposes," Rory said with disgust. "Buy your own date clothes."

"I think we've officially segued to boy talk. Any news on that front?" Lorelai asked.

"No," Rory said pointedly. "Nothing new, anyhow."

"I thought college was just an excuse for you crazy kids to hook up and test your own personal drinking limits."

"Why would you think that?"

"Primetime news programs? I'm very up on the degradation of our youth and entrapment scams that target the elderly."

"Well, those shows probably aren't focusing on Yale. I'm too busy with classes and the paper and internships to date. Dean made that abundantly clear. Excuse me if I'm not exactly eager to get back out there after my last relationship."

Lorelai sighed. "I know things with Dean didn't go how you wanted."

"That's an understatement," Rory cut in.

"But he had a point. The two of you didn't really have much in common any more. And you shouldn't be together just to justify the fact that he left his wife for you."

"That is not why we were together," Rory defended herself.

"Okay, so that didn't come out quite right. I just mean it doesn't matter how attracted you might be to someone—if there isn't more to the relationship, like common interests or the same taste in movies or an obsessive compulsive love of research," Lorelai led.

"Very funny," Rory groused.

"Relationships take work and a solid foundation to sustain them over time. He was busy working and trying to get his footing after his marriage ended and you were busy with school and the paper and all that comes with campus life. Sometimes even love isn't enough."

Rory shrugged. "I know. And I'm over it. Just because I haven't dated someone else doesn't mean I haven't put it past me."

"I know that."

"Dean represents a part of my past. I'm starting a whole new chapter of my life tomorrow."

"In your brown skirt."

"Yes," Rory said with decisiveness.

"Problem solved."

"Yes."

"And you'll call me and fill me in on how you got Donald Trump coffee and fixed the printer and won over the hearts of every last person in need of a paper clip in a twenty-foot radius of your cubicle?" Lorelai asked with expectation.

"I'll be happy if I don't trip over my own feet and manage to get through the day without setting anything on fire."

"Nightmare?"

"One of about a hundred," Rory said with a nod.

"It'll be fine. Oh, and win over the secretaries. They control who talks to whom, and most people don't appreciate them enough."

"Secretaries. Got it. Anything else?"

"Nope. You're going to be great. Just be yourself and don't scare anyone with your encyclopedia-like knowledge of the newspaper industry. Remember, you're there to learn. Oh, and don't correct the head editor dude. They don't like that."

"I'll call you tomorrow night. And we'll go shopping this weekend, because I need a suit. Oh, and some shoes."

"You make me so proud," Lorelai said weepily.

"Because I need shoes?"

"There are other reasons, but yes. Mostly the shoes."

"Good night."

"Sleep tight," Lorelai said before they disconnected.

Rory turned and plucked out the widely discussed skirt and grabbed an acceptable shirt to go with it. She hung them both up over the top of her closet door and shoved the others off the bed so she'd have a place to get a few hours of tossing and turning in before reporting to the _Gazette_'s offices. She hadn't been that nervous about anything in a long time. Not only was she about to start her very first real-world journalistic endeavor, but she was apprehensive about the way she'd won the appointment. She knew that her grandfather had put in a call to a friend and collected an owed favor to get her application reviewed and possibly favored. She hoped she'd won them over with her resume, and that all Richard Gilmore's influence had done was make sure it had been seen by the right person. Nevertheless, she was going to make the most of the opportunity—to prove that she really had been the best woman for the job.

-X-

It was late—far later than one starting a new position as the managing editor of a fledging newspaper should be when leaving a bar with his next destination undecided. It wasn't just his opinion—though his opinion had never really counted for much—but as he stared down in a drunken haze at his phone to see the ten missed calls and nine voicemails from his father he knew he'd have an earful of how irresponsible he was being whenever he cared to listen. He didn't care for listening to his father's messages. The specifics may vary, but Mitchum Huntzberger's tone was always condescending and full of disapproval, and he had never, not once in his son's 23 years, ever just called up to say hi, let alone tell him he was proud of him.

Instead of dialing voice mail, he chose to ignore his messages and missed calls in favor of scrolling down through his contacts until he found a much more appealing name, one that ended in soft vowel that rolled off his tongue in his exact state of inebriation. He needed comfort, or in lieu of that a release that came without any guilt.

He deserved the distraction, after all, he'd done his best to ruin any and all chances to earn being put in such a prestigious position as running a newspaper. He'd partied his way through the Ivy League, taking extended vacations and barely showing his face in the newsroom during his tenure on the school's paper. His reputation loomed as large as his father's, though instead of people fearing him they knew him as a source of good times—usually the best times. The majority of his shirking was rationalized, at least in his mind, as living while he still had the chance. He had chosen to experience as much life and fun as possible before he graduated and was shoved into a suit and tie and forced to sit through budgetary meetings and drink bad coffee just to keep his eyes open and had to trade nights drinking beer and whiskey with friends for martini lunches with business associates.

It might not have been so bad had his partners in crime chosen a career in journalism with him—but they were handed down the keys to their own legacy careers. And he was damned if he was going to wear a suit to work. His one inkling of hope was that he could manage to either get fired from the gig or in the very least be seen as different from his tyrannical father during his tenure.

Getting fired, in a dynastic line such as the Huntzbergers—especially being the only son of an only son—would prove difficult, but he was nothing if not up for the challenge. He'd drink and screw 'til dawn, take a cab back to his new apartment in Stamford for an insufficient nap, and then stumble to the office coffee machine, instituting a liberal use of eye drops until he appeared just fresher than a zombie. The state of his first impression would take no longer than a half an hour to get back to Herr Huntzberger, and he might have a pink slip and a change of assignment to a lesser strain of journalistic testing ground by the clock-punching hour of five.

At least, he tried to always hold such hopes. And when the purring voice of the fairer sex answered his call at the late hour associated with booty calls and bad judgement, he put all his charm and effusive hope into winning an invitation to her bed. It was nothing it not a skill of his. It was his curse and his destiny—he was unstoppable when he put his mind and energy into a goal.

-X-

She was early. She'd felt foolish, standing in front of her mirror before six in the morning, fully dressed and groomed and ready to wait for three hours before needing to be in such a state. She'd gone to the dining hall, for a fortifying breakfast, but ended up scarfing down two bowls of Frosted Flakes, as it was a luxury that she often missed. Her normal breakfast time, when she bothered to make time for the meal at all, was late enough that any of the sugar-coated cereals were depleted. She had no taste for bran or fiber-fortified twigs, so it was normally a bagel to go for her.

As it turns out, the sugar dump mixed with the three, possibly excessive, cups of coffee she'd downed in the name of passing time and calming her nerves had worked against her. By the time she stepped off the elevator with a fresh—fourth—cup of coffee her stomach was a mass of nausea and nerves that threatened to send her sprinting to the nearest ladies room. Unfortunately she had no idea yet where that was located. She saw the front receptionist fielding a constantly ringing multi-line phone and approached her with a spare coffee and a queasy smile.

"_Stamford Gazette_, please hold. _Stamford Gazette_, please hold. _Stamford Gazette_, let me connect you," the well-oiled tenor of a veteran's voice ticked off each ringing line, her eyes far away as she ran through each ring as they chimed in. She glanced up at Rory with a slight impatience. "Yes?"

"Hi. I'm Rory Gilmore. I'm a new intern. I'm not sure where I'm supposed to go, but," she held out the coffee cup. "Do you like lattes?"

The receptionist eyed her warily. "Go that way and ask for Harry. He handles newbies," she said with a quick snap of her fingers and then outstretched her hand over the desk while she got back to work. "_Stamford Gazette_, please hold."

Rory made a small squeak and pushed the drink into the waiting hand before giving a quick smile and scurrying off in the direction she'd been pointed. The whole workspace was arranged in desks facing all directions and cubicles with the occasional plant and picture breaking up the sea of computers that were all grinding away. She saw no name plates, and had not ever heard of anyone named Harry in conjunction with this job. "Harry?" she called out, causing a few people to turn and take notice of her, brown skirt and all. She kept moving with a tight smile. "Harry?"

A head poked out of another room. "Did you say Harry?"

Rory stopped and clasped her hands in front of her in relief. "Are you Harry?"

"Who wants to know?" he asked cagily.

She offered her hand proudly. "Rory Gilmore, new intern. Where do I start? Filing story pitches or working the AP wire?" she asked excitedly.

He sighed. "Interns. You need a name badge."

"Oh. Okay."

"After that, I've got some shredding that needs to be done ASAP. The new boss is coming. I was afraid you were one of his lackeys. Word is he likes pretty young things."

Rory frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You need to go to the administration offices. They'll get you set up. But hurry, Huntzberger is known for his punctuality and his knack for making people shit their pants."

Rory's mouth hung agape. "Uh, where are the administration offices?"

"This way. Keep up. You might want to get different shoes. Huntzberger's a fast walker. Do you have any antacid on you?"

Rory shook her head as she tried to keep pace with the clearly stressed out Harry. "No."

"You should probably get some and keep it at your desk. You're never too young for your first ulcer, at least, not in this business."

"That's… some advice," she said with a clearing of her throat. She had a feeling this experience was going to be nothing like she thought it would be.

-X-

He stepped off the elevator in wrinkled pants and sunglasses. The morning sun had assaulted his eyes and sent him reaching for Visine and an aspirin much before his body would have consented to allow him to rise from the nearly comatose state he'd managed to achieve. He wasn't completely sure exactly how much sleep he'd gotten, maybe two hours, but his activities before he drifted off where nothing short of nefarious and prevented any actual restoration from taking place.

"Morning," he said with a heavy wave in the general direction of the receptionist. His words tasted like gravel. He wondered if he had any breath spray or a Tic Tac on his person. He'd been surprised as to the contents of his pockets on many an occasion. He was generally awash in relief to find a stray condom or the correct house key in his wallet or jacket pocket. He had lots of clarity when sober, and this helped keep his disorderly side safe.

He garnered all kinds of attention as he made his way through the narrow passages of the open-air offices. Most people were kind enough to divert their eyes before they thought actual eye contact was achieved and kept their surprised comments to a whisper in his wake. He wasn't looking for a closed office or anyone in particular. He was just hoping that the coffee in the break room would be of the passable sort, rather than some sludge that a clueless intern had made in an attempt to fulfill a duty.

The overhead fluorescent lights in the small, square break room were overwhelming even with his sunglasses on. He gave a groan and made his way past the microwaves and refrigerator, which was no doubt filled with leftovers from yesterday's meals and a whole host of mystery packages that all included the some level of mold growth, and grabbed a mug from the counter before he found what appeared even to his blood-shot eyes to be regular coffee. It was a nice dark shade and would never be described as 'thick', so he filled up his cup and tossed in a packet of sugar, just to offset any possible bitterness. He was bitter enough as it was, he didn't need to seek it out in other avenues of his life.

He slumped against the counter as he drank a full cup and then reached for a refill immediately. He wouldn't have been surprised to find that the liquid had come from a hip, local coffee shop instead of the newspaper's break room. It was only as his second mug was filled that he realized the carafe was now empty, and he highly doubted anything he could make would taste half as good as what he'd finished off. He figured the staff would despise him soon enough already; he'd hate to be the guy that ruined their coffee as well.

He was joined as he stood staring at the bag of grounds, trying to figure out just what ratio of water to coffee to add to the machine. A light sound of a feminine manner of clearing one's throat caused him to nearly jump out of his skin.

"Hi," he said, turning toward the sound while still holding the bag.

She frowned as she took in the sight of him. Rumpled clothes, messy hair, sunglasses indoors, and flummoxed by a bag of ground-up beans. He wasn't surprised she took him for some homeless intruder rather than the boss. "Hi. Can I … help you?"

He held up the bag. "I am terrible at making coffee, but there's an unwritten rule about taking the last of the pot and not making more, and whomever made the last pot missed their calling and should be making money off their barista skills, and not whiling away their time in the dying industry of print journalism."

She cocked her head. She was cute when she was at a loss of words. He suspected she was cute regardless of the situation, though it was possible that his so-called beer goggles were still on. He definitely needed more coffee to be sure. And more eye drops. Not to mention about five more hours to sleep. "Tell me how you really feel."

He laughed. The sound rang out in his own head and he winced. "Can you make coffee? It's my first day, and they'll hate me if I ruin the coffee."

She stepped forward and briskly removed the bag from his hands. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand, for a millisecond, but he noticed that he could still feel the light sensation of her touch after she'd relieved him of his burden. "It's my first day, too, but making coffee is the one thing I'm not worried about screwing up."

"You don't look capable of screwing up anything. You look," he said, taking in every last inch of her from behind his glasses before continuing, "great."

"Um, thanks. The secret is to put in a third more coffee than the suggested amount and use cold water," she said, as she emptied the old filter and rinsed out the carafe.

"We're sharing secrets now?" he asked, forgetting the fact that he was where he was. For a moment, he was just a guy, meeting a lovely girl. If it had been a coffee shop and not a newspaper office, it would be a nice moment in his day. As it was, he was most certainly her boss and was toeing the line of inviting a sexual harassment lawsuit.

"I don't want people to hate you on your first day," she said cautiously as she stocked the coffee maker.

"Oh, they'll hate me," he said with a self-deprecating nod. "I could give them each a hundred dollar bill with a cup of this coffee, and they'd still want to key my car."

She turned from the newly percolating brew and faced him with perplexed dismay. There was a slight wrinkle in her skin over her nose when she frowned. He also noticed, standing much closer to her now, just how blue her eyes were. They were like the color of the sky reflecting in tropical waters. He took off his sunglasses to get a better look. "You're very glass half empty, aren't you?"

"Hey, at least you have a true marketable skill. If everything else falls apart for you, you'll always be able to make a fine cup of coffee."

She gave a nervous laugh of someone dealing with a lunatic. "Thanks, I think."

He shook his head adamantly, which did nothing to curb his headache. "I'm serious. That coffee could warrant you a marriage proposal. Or some other grand gesture of love and appreciation. Certainly big tips, if money is your thing."

He wasn't making headway on gaining the staff's trust. She made eyes for the exit, but she was clearly was too polite to bolt outright from the shell of a man who was engaging her in awkward conversation. "I should go. Find a place to lie down for a while. Thanks, for the coffee," he said, giving her an out.

"Um, yeah. Anytime," she said in a stunned manner as he took his mug with him and left her alone with a fresh pot of coffee.

-X-

"Gilmore, did you pick up any antacids?" Harry said as he came back to her station, where she was nearly done shredding a stack of paperwork he'd handed her earlier, a gift from his boss.

"Not yet. But I did put them on my list. Along with breath mints," she added, remembering her very strange encounter in the break room. "I'm glad you're here. It's probably not in the budget, but we might need a more powerful shredder. This one is making weird grinding noises and I think I can smell the internal components starting to smoke."

He waved a hand. "I can add it to the list of fantasy items that we're handing over to the new boss at the department meeting this afternoon. You want to sit in? They're boring as sin, but it'll show you how things really get done around here."

She perked up. "Really? That sounds amazing," she said with her first-day enthusiasm.

He held up a hand. "Relax. I'm not doing you a favor here. You seem like a nice kid. I just hope a couple of days here doesn't kill your dream."

She shook her head. "Not a chance."

"Yeah, well, my dream is dead. I just met our new boss. I knew things were bad, but I had no idea just how dire things had gotten. Huntzberger couldn't even be bothered to show up himself, and he gets some sort of sick pleasure from watching us all squirm and wait for his saving direction."

She was instantly disappointed. Not that the internship wasn't still a great opportunity, but she was missing out on meeting and potentially working with the top guy in her field. "That's too bad. Who did he send?"

Harry shuddered. "His kid. Meeting's in a half an hour. Unplug that thing if you see flames. There's a fire extinguisher in the supply closet at the end of the hall."

Rory nodded mutely as Harry went back to doing whatever it was Harry did when he wasn't searching for stomach acid relief or assigning her a medial task. She shredded another document and nearly burned her finger on the top of the shredder, as it had grown so hot in the process. She unplugged the thing for good measure and went off in search of the fire extinguisher, to have handy just to avoid the next day's headline being 'Intern Burns Down Office on First Day.' That was one nightmare she was glad to avoid reenacting.

She was nearly done with the papers when her phone rang inside her pocket. She pulled it out after sneaking a look around to see that no one had taken note of her or the sound of her phone ringing amid all the other phones constantly going off in the building, and saw her mother's information flashing on the screen. "Hey."

"So?"

"I said I'd call you tonight. I'm working."

"Making coffee?" Lorelai guessed.

"I've done that twice already. Apparently I have a unique talent for it," Rory informed her mother.

"Well, you did learn at my knee. You've been doing it since you were five."

"Four and a half," Rory corrected.

"I'm going to come across as a terrible mother when you finally publish your memoirs."

"That's not really my problem," Rory said lightly as she shredded another paper. The action caused a loud grinding noise from deep within the shredder and Rory stood on her tip toes to peer down into the angry-looking metal teeth.

"What are you doing?"

"Shredding things. How do you know when something's about to catch fire?"

"I knew I should have made you be a Girl Scout," Lorelai mused.

"Don't worry, I have the fire extinguisher ready, just in case. I'm pretty sure this thing is on its last legs."

"How's the rest of your day going, other than killing the office equipment?"

Rory blew out a breath. "Fine. I was pretty nervous. But then I met another new employee, and he seemed worse off than I was. Oh, and I get to sit in on a department meeting in a few minutes."

"Ooh, that sounds really boring!" Lorelai mocked in an upbeat tone.

"I get to listen and maybe suggest things. It's a very big deal."

"Did all the other interns get invited, or just you?" Lorelai asked.

"What other interns?"

"You said you met another newbie that was nervous."

"Oh. I think he was more hungover than nervous. And I don't actually know if he's an intern."

"Was he your age or was he sporting a bald spot and old man pants?"

Rory frowned. "He was about my age. I don't know. I think he went somewhere to sleep it off."

"Sounds like he's a keeper," Lorelai said with utmost sarcasm.

"Yeah. I guess I've made a better first impression than that guy. At least, until they catch me on the phone with my mommy."

"Fine. Call me later. Try not to burn the place down. Bosses frown on that stuff. But if you do, you could always start you own newspaper."

"Why would I do that?"

"That's what I did, when the Independence burned down on my watch."

"Hardly the same thing, but I'll keep it in mind as an option."

"Enjoy your really boring meeting."

"I will," Rory assured her as she put her phone on silent and emptied the last of the shredded paper into the waste can at her workstation. After making sure the tired and overworked shredder was unplugged and not about to spontaneously combust, she made her way toward the conference room where people were starting to gather. She sat in a seat against the wall directly behind Harry, one of the two people she'd actually spoken to other than the receptionist and the guy that told her to smile as he took her picture for her badge. She sat patiently as people held side conversations as they waited for their new boss to join them and begin the meeting. She was excited to be a part of a fresh start and hopefully a second wind in the paper's history. What a great story for a cocktail party, or chapter for her memoir her mother always joked about her writing one day.

But it was less than inspiring when a hush fell over the crowd and the same wrinkled, hungover boy who loved her coffee stepped in and shut the door. His hair was tamed and his sunglasses were gone. She wondered if he'd left them somewhere on purpose or if he'd lost them in the couch cushions while he napped. He was holding another mug of what she assumed was coffee. He stood at the head of the table and let out a deep sigh. "Hello. I'd like to thank you all for coming. As I'm sure you've all heard, I'm your new fearless leader. My name is Logan Huntzberger."

There was a stunned silence and one brave soul raised their hand across the room from where Rory sat behind Harry. Logan nodded at him, to let him express concern or ask a question. "Yes?"

"Will your father be joining us?"

He gave an amused, if pained, smile. "Not if we're lucky. Any other questions?"

The meeting dissolved into department heads spouting off their concerns about their jobs and their budgets, and Logan growing more and more despondent and repetitive as he offered his promises to do what he could for each and every last one of them. Rory watched with surprise and a moderate amount of pity as he seemed to take more and more weight onto his shoulders as the hour progressed. At the end of the meeting, angry middle-aged department heads filtered out to ponder the fate of their jobs and probably update their resumes as Logan stayed in his seat, going over his notes about all the insurmountable tasks he had ahead of him. It would have been too kind a fate for his father to fire him when he could put him through the shame of manning this sinking ship to failure at an increasing faster pace than it had been otherwise. Rory, a diligent intern, stayed behind to gather paper cups and napkins and shreds of torn paper and other items left in haste.

"You don't have to do that," he said quietly.

She stopped at his reference of her actions. "Oh. I know. But if I go out there, Harry might make me shred something else, and I'm doing my best not to burn the place down on my first day."

He snorted. "Yeah. Wish I could say the same."

"Your father must have a lot of faith in you. I mean, to put someone so young in such a position, that's really impressive."

His eyes met hers in disbelief. Maybe she just wanted to believe the best in people. He wasn't raised to think that way at all. Either that or she was just humoring her new boss. "It's not impressive at all. He's given up on teaching me private, personal lessons and he's decided to start trying to scare me into submission by tying my success to hard-working people who deserve better."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh."

He waved a hand. "Seriously. Get out of here. None of the messes here are your problem."

To her credit, she held her ground. "That doesn't mean I wouldn't like to help."

He stood up and smiled, a weary effort though genuine in its intent. "You already have. Your coffee is the only thing that's kept me alive all day long."

She hesitated before saying the next thing, especially to her boss. "I'd like to think I have more to offer than just the ability to make coffee."

He considered her, this time having the dignity not to scan her body and focused solely on those azure eyes. "I have no doubt that's the case. If I implied otherwise, well, you should know that I wasn't exactly at the top of my game a few hours ago."

She offered a curt nod of acceptance, and made one last visual sweep from left to right of the room. "Are you sure you don't want me to tidy up a bit?"

"Absolutely not. This is my mess, and it's fitting that I start with the conference room. You're in college, right? You should go, have some fun. I insist."

This time her frown wasn't due to his post-drunken ramblings. She wasn't eager to follow his instruction, but she wasn't about to argue so blatantly with her new boss, regardless of his age or desire to be there. Everyone could have a bad day, and she hoped that's what she was seeing in him. She'd had her own share of bad days, and just because this job was the most exciting thing in her life at the moment didn't mean that it had to be his most coveted role. But something about the way he spoke, like he'd gladly trade places with her, left her feeling unsettled. "If you're sure, I'll go."

"I'm sure. And hey, next time I'll try to make sure Harry has something meatier than paper shredding for you to do. But I'm afraid that you will have to keep making coffee. There was some in there an hour ago that was just tan water."

Rory smiled at the compliments. "Sounds fair to me. Good luck, Mr. Huntzberger."

He cringed. "Wow, that sounded weird. But thank you. I'm sorry, your name was?"

"Rory. Rory Gilmore."

"Nice to meet you, Rory Gilmore."

"You too," she said quietly as she left him to start to pick up the pieces of the office and his life.


	2. Outside the Office

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Outside the Office

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

The term 'supply closet' was a bit of a misnomer, at least it was upon first survey. It was achingly full, not to mention in an utter state of chaos, and a simple trip to grab more staples and anything else might have caught her eye turned into an event of monumental proportions. In an attempt to keep the hallway clear, even in the back of the offices where no one ever went, other than to shove extra supplies behind the closed door and run away, she had taken over the smallest conference room that never seemed to be used as far as she'd seen in her two weeks.

Not that she'd seen much in the way of action at her very first newspaper internship in the last two weeks. Morale continued to downslide. Harry was emptying half a bottle of antacids at a single go, and the last document he'd asked her to proofread was his resume. Whereas she'd hoped to be fact checking or offering filler articles when needed, she was still making coffee and doing menial tasks for various paid employees that were too busy trying to tend to the sinking ship she'd stowed away on to be bothered with such dalliances.

She was also yet to set sights on their fearless new leader, one Logan Huntzberger, since she'd sat in on that departmental meeting at which he got a full dose of his new reality. Harry hadn't mentioned him; at least not while using his real name or anything remotely complimentary. No one else really spoke to her directly about the state of affairs at her first real taste of her dream job—though she mostly found Harry's openness on the far end of the scale as far as candor went.

There was a moment that came any time she took on a large organizational project, where the tangled mass of confusion broke and gave way to like items grouped together and peace washed over her. It was at that instant, as she gazed at the long table holding neatly stacked reams of such items as paper, staples, ink cartridges, pens, and paper clips that she was frightened nearly out of her skin.

"What are you doing?"

After nearly jumping out of her shoes, she turned to see the boss, freshly shaven and clear-eyed, with his blonde hair tousled to mimic having just rolled out of bed instead of the mashed true-to-life version he'd shown off on his first day, staring at her reason for pride.

"Um. I was looking for staples," she offered sheepishly as she eyed her slightly obsessive handiwork.

He raised his eyebrows at her, his mild amusement hanging in the recycled office air between them. "Well, it seems you came to the right place. Unless you're running an office supply business out of our conference room."

She pointed her index finger at the mostly empty closet. "They were, I mean, the whole thing was in a complete state of disarray. There were about a hundred boxes of pens shoved in the front and everything else was hidden and it just seemed prudent to make things easier to access."

A small wrinkle ran the length of his forehead as he considered her. "You think your time here is best spent reorganizing the supply closet?"

She shifted her weight from one high-heeled shoe to the other. Her choice in footwear was one concession she'd not made from Harry's first chain of suggestions. Her shoes were comfortable enough, as long as she didn't have to start doing sprint races at the office picnic. Assuming, that was, that there was an office picnic during her tenure. She had difficulty seeing all the people she was growing accustomed to interacting with behind their desks in their suits, instead eating hamburgers and hot dogs in polo shirts and picking partners for a three-legged race.

"Rory?"

She snapped out of her thoughts. "Sorry. I just thought that since I got done with the proofreading Harry gave me, I'd keep myself busy."

"You're fast at proofing copy?" he asked with great interest.

She nodded. "My old editor at the _News_, he used to filter all his overflow to me before print, because he never had to change more than two percent of anything I turned in."

There was a flash of recognition in his brown eyes. "Where do you go to school?"

She tossed her hair subconsciously over her shoulder. "Yale."

"Doyle 'two-percent margin of error' McMaster doesn't trust anyone as his second set of eyes," he said shrewdly.

His shared knowledge startled her almost as much as his sneaking up behind her had. "You know Doyle?"

He smiled with a languid ease. "He put up with me during his first semester as editor. He was tasked with trying to pull printable copy out of me during my last semester, which involved regular correspondence with my father. I think I owe him a fruit basket or something for the trouble."

"I could give it to him, if you decide to go that route," she offered, not as selflessly as the suggestion sounded to him.

"I'm sure I can find his address," he waved off her politeness.

"He's usually at my place," she said without missing a beat.

"Oh," he said, drawing out the single utterance to several syllables of air from his mouth.

She stiffened at his inference. "I mean, he's there a lot with my roommate. Technically he spends a lot of time in my roommate's room. I have a whole separate, other room. Across the common area. I sleep with ear plugs and sometimes those noise-cancelling earmuffs."

His smile returned. "And you'd still bring him fruit?"

Desperate to change the topic now that she felt foolish, she jerked her thumb at her piles and stacks. "I should put this stuff back."

He nodded. "Try to do it without pocketing any of it for home use. I'd hate to have to lay off another person because of a sudden carbon paper deficit."

Her mouth dropped open at the way he so cavalierly shared the news. "You're laying people off?"

He looked around the small room. "Yep. That's why I'm back here. You're using the bad news room for your little project."

She pointed down to the floor. "This room is used to fire people?"

He shrugged. "People tend to get upset when they're fired. Things get broken occasionally, and while I'm not too attached to anything in my office, it's better to use a neutral area with less ammunition," he advised.

"You're firing people today?" she asked, clutching a box of white-out to her stomach.

He nodded without showing much emotion. "As soon as you're done reorganizing the place. Did you shadow Martha Stewart last semester or something?" he asked as he noticed her careful handiwork of subsections and determination of most-used items in easiest reach.

"I'll hurry," she said quickly, starting to transfer items to emptied shelves.

"I'll give you a hand," he offered amicably.

She turned quick to him as he stepped in closer to grab reams of paper, one of the heavier items she'd had to deal with. He halted as they stood nearly nose-to-nose. "Don't you have better uses of your time than to reorganize the supply closet?"

His eyes lit up, signaling pleasure at her having turned the tables back on him. "Touché. I'll be back in ten minutes. Will that kill your feng shui mojo?"

She managed to shake her head. "I'll be out of your way by then."

He made a clicking noise with his tongue. "Your words, not mine."

He replaced the stacks of paper down where she'd had them carefully placed and left her to finish her self-appointed task and wonder if her newfound opportunity would get slashed along with the other cuts he was about to make.

-X-

It was late by the time Rory had left the newsroom, ran back to the Yale Daily News to make sure all her edits were in on time, and then walked all the way back in the dark and cold winter evening to the dorm room she shared with her roommate and, more often than not, her former editor. No one had ever said it was the ideal living situation—Paris, her one-time frenemy turned something usually less hostile was a bear to deal with on her best day, and living with a man who she wasn't either related to or dating was always slightly awkward. The fact that Doyle had a tendency to walk in his sleep and had no shame when it came to his body in various states of undress completely didn't help.

"Did you walk alone?" Paris asked from the couch as Rory shut the door behind her with her foot, seeing as her arms were loaded with a quart of milk, her shoulder bag, and a stack of research for articles she was writing.

"Of course I walked alone," Rory said as she heaved the contents of her arms onto the coffee table. She was often impressed that it took the abuse they doled out on it. "So what?"

"Sunset is at four forty-five in the afternoon. The street light at our building is conveniently busted out, and when I called the maintenance office to explain about how my tuition dollars necessitated them getting off their excessively plump duffs and making the campus safer during the darker months, they told me that it was on their list and the request would be processed in due time, which apparently is after every co-ed in a two-block radius has been mugged."

"Get to the point faster, Paris, I have six hours of work to do and three hours to get it all done," Rory said, winding her hand out in the air to indicate her desire for speed.

"I'm compiling potential lawsuits for the school, if they fail to comply with their regulated duties," Paris said, pulling out a legal pad for Rory to view. "Are you at least carrying your whistle and mace I gave you?"

"Sure, Paris, but they're in the bottom of my bag. It'd be way more effective for me to club an attacker with the bag—it weighs about fifty pounds by the end of the day," Rory said, rubbing her own sore shoulder. She stepped down out of her high heels. She was willing to admit, by the end of the day not only her shoulder was sore—her feet were usually also ready to give up the ghost. Luckily, her shoes were still just as cute to her the next morning, and she pushed through another day.

"Anything can be used as a weapon. It's nice to know you listen to me, at least. Listen, I'm thinking about putting together a protest to force attention to the matter. Can I count you in?"

"Paris, I'm hardly here as it is. When am I going to have time to hold signs and sit in the quad?"

"This is serious. Do you want to be mugged or worse because Doyle can't put an empty milk carton in the trash can and we don't realize we're out of milk until three hours after the sun's set?" she asked, indicating the small ration of milk the girls kept on hand for emergency cereal meals in their room.

"This sounds like a couple issue, and I thankfully am currently free of such troubles. I have school and the paper and my fledgling future at my internship to keep me busy."

"Fledgling? What, did pretty boy Huntzberger sink it that fast? Doyle has contacts at other papers nearby, if you need a quick reference."

"You know Logan Huntzberger?" Rory asked with piqued interest.

"I know of him. Sometimes Doyle used to cry out his name in the middle of the night. I had to make sure he didn't need to have a same-sex exploration that is common to our generation," she said matter-of-factly.

"Aw, man," Rory said, squeezing her eyes shut in disgust. "Remember how we keep having the discussion about boundaries? We might need a refresher," Rory groaned.

"Relax, Doyle wasn't having homoerotic dreams about him. He was having nightmares. Huntzberger is a rich, spoiled playboy piece of work. He's the reason Doyle started swilling Pepto Bismol."

Rory eyed Paris with newfound respect. "I'm really glad the two of you found each other."

Paris smiled smugly. "Thanks. Now, where are we on the protest?"

Rory gave a heavy sigh and grabbed the milk to put it away in the refrigerator. "Listen, Paris, it's great that you're taking an interest in your community and all, but maybe you should give the school a few days to replace the bulb. It might even be a CFL," Rory said with mock enthusiasm, trying to raise her roommate's spirits.

Paris was glowering and about to utter a retort when there was a knock at the door. Instead of engaging in further arguments about the need for the people to force those in power into action, she picked up a cricket bat and stood in front of the door. "Who is it?"

"Paris, get a grip. The muggers aren't going door-to-door," Rory said as she walked over to call off her own personal armed guard. "Stand down. I'll get it."

She unlocked the door and cracked it open as Paris retreated to her room. In the breezeway that led to her room stood her impeccably dressed boss, holding a giant basket of fruit. She rested the bat she'd eased from Paris' grip against the wall behind the door.

Her eyes widened at the reality. Her mind touched on their earlier conversation, before he began the layoffs and she spent the rest of the day listening to Harry breathe into a paper bag while she filed. "You have fruit."

"I do. There are surprisingly few places that offer passion fruit in their arrangements. It's my favorite, and I spent all this time on the phone asking people if they had passion fruit, and then they asked me if I wanted to have it delivered to my girlfriend, and I started thinking about the delivery guy handing Doyle fruit that he might assume was from another girl, and you said he had a girlfriend, and suddenly I was here, with fruit."

"Passion fruit," she said, still staring at him across the threshold.

"Can I come in?" he asked, holding up the large basket to show her that he was carrying quite a weight.

"Sure, you can, um, put that on the table, I guess. Tonight is Doyle's man night. He's knitting at a tea shop downtown."

Logan eyed her to detect just how serious she was. "There's a card."

"You thought of everything," she said politely, feeling more than a little self-conscious about her boss standing in her dorm room. The very thought of him walking through campus to locate her room unnerved her slightly.

"So this is your place," he said, not making an excuse to leave once his task was complete. He'd put the fruit down next to her towering stack of research she'd brought home to work on after her classwork was complete.

"Until the end of the term. We're discussing our options after that."

"Maybe something that requires less protective headgear for you," he quipped.

"One can hope. I don't want to keep you. I'm sure you had a really long day."

He nodded, but if he got her offer for a graceful exit, he didn't bite. "It was. I was thinking about heading over to a place I used to go all the time for a beer. I haven't gotten back to New Haven much since graduation."

"I doubt much has changed," she offered lightly.

He shrugged off her comment. She was still in college, waiting for her life to begin. He was outside looking in, wishing for even a little of the carefree years he'd tried to cling to. "Do you want to come grab a drink with me?"

It wasn't an offer she'd been expecting. "Oh. Well, it's pretty late, and I have an exam in the morning," she began, her excuses real even though she was very aware that they felt like excuses. It seemed to be plain common sense that having a drink late at night with her boss was a bad idea. She couldn't imagine what good could come of it, even if he did have a very famous last name in her chosen field of career.

He waved away her need to continue. "Right. It is getting late. I guess I should get back anyway. I have more meetings tomorrow and a full day of trying to get what's left of the staff to believe that things will start looking up soon."

She moved to open the front door, to open the door for his departure. He caught sight of the bat against the wall with a concerned interest. She paused as she held the door open a crack and swiveled to face him as he stood behind her, still in his winter coat and a scarf open around his neck. "Was it awful? Firing people, I mean?"

He considered her question. "Not as bad as putting everyone out of work later on."

His candor touched her and she pried the door open slowly. "I'll see you next week?"

He nodded, and started to head out into the hall. His hand caught the plane of the door on his way through. "Have a good night, Rory."

"Thanks. You too," she said, hesitating without saying his name. Calling him by his surname felt so formal, even though he was her boss. She had trouble reconciling this man who was barely older than she was being in a position of utmost power over her at the moment.

With one last tight smile, he was gone, wrapping his scarf around his neck as he started to head out of her building and back through campus. She shut and locked the door behind him, and turned to stare at the giant array of wrapped fruit he'd brought.

Paris emerged from her door. "That is a lot of fruit."

"Yes, it is," Rory agreed as she stared at it.

"I thought you said you weren't in a relationship," Paris said, sure she had caught her friend in a mistruth.

Rory smiled as she plucked out the card. "Oh, it's not for me. They're for your boyfriend." She gathered up her study materials to take to her room. "Goodnight, Paris."

-X-

He didn't mind people that he didn't know hating him. He was used to a certain diverging opinion on the nature of his very existence, let alone his own choices. It was how it had been with his own father, people either lauding him with too much enthusiasm at every turn, or the naysayers that hated all he stood for—the rich, white, educated upper class that was unfairly given everything. Logan knew that everything included a lot of responsibility and at most points of his life he would have gladly handed over any of his socioeconomic monikers to ease the burden he was set to inherit.

It was unclear at what point he'd started to care about his work environment and getting those around him on a daily basis to trust him. He liked to think it was all the information he'd had to take in, specific to circulation and payroll and each individual's contribution and what departments were fiscally heavy—it was hard to remain detached after taking in all that and matching faces to go along with it.

As to what had motivated him to head to New Haven with a basket full of fruit for someone he hadn't given a thought to in a year—he tried not to give that too much thought. After all, everything he did off the clock wasn't required to have a reason. He spent most of his four years at Yale doing whatever amused him the most in the moment. Truth be told, it's how he'd spent most of the year since graduating as well. There was the slightest whisper in the back of his mind that had suggested perhaps he hadn't taken the apologetic fruit for his old editor so much as he had hoped to get a chance to see the one person who didn't seem to outright hate him at work in her natural habitat. It had seemed to backfire, however, as she'd seemed too stunned at his odd offering to act naturally during the brief encounter.

Luckily he had too much keeping him busy during and past normal working hours to give her more thought until he came back after lunch a few days later to see her typing at the speed of light on the keyboard in her cubicle. Aside from the freshly reorganized supply closet, it was the neatest workspace in the whole office. She'd even brought a plant and a mug that had her school and future graduation year on it. He stopped on his way to make what had been an urgent phone call and instead leaned on the upper edge of her workspace, watching her fingers fly without glancing away from the screen once.

"Are you double jointed?" he asked, causing her to bounce a little as she started from the unexpected intrusion.

"Excuse me?" she turned and hit him with surprised blue eyes. She'd pulled her long brown hair back into a prim bun at the nape of her neck, making her look like a librarian who'd misplaced her glasses.

He pointed at the keyboard. "You type really fast. You have very dexterous fingers, so I thought maybe you were double jointed."

"Not to my knowledge, but I've never really tested that theory," she said with full, if confused, disclosure.

"I'm glad I ran into you," he said, trying to tamp down all the unnecessary flow of words she seemed to draw out of him. Unless his veins were filled copiously with alcohol, it was rare that he lose his track of thoughts so easily. Everything about the last couple of weeks had been sobering for him.

"This is the best place to do so," she said slowly. "Unless you have more fruit to deliver."

He smiled, bracing himself for the effect she seemed to have on him. "Did Doyle enjoy it?"

Rory shook her head, causing a few stray locks that she'd tucked behind her ear to come loose and graze her cheek. "No. Paris wouldn't let him eat it after he had a panic attack from seeing your note."

"My note gave him a panic attack?" he asked. Again, he knew that there were people that didn't like him, but it seemed a very visceral response to just a few words he'd scrawled on a small card.

"I don't think it was your note so much as the flashbacks that your name caused him. He started muttering about Mitchum and above the fold and pulling it out of his ass. I'm pretty sure he was referring to you, but he wasn't using a lot of nouns and verbs in a functional way at that point. Paris made him some oolong tea and put on a white noise machine of whales that she's trained him to sleep to. That seemed to calm him."

It was a whole other world she lived in, he realized, with these people that she surrounded herself with. He doubted she was ever bored or had to go out to drink in order to make her evenings enjoyable or to gather material for a great story. He all of a sudden felt as if he'd become an ominous boogeyman, capable of bringing grown men down with just the mention of his name. In other words, he was right on track with becoming his father, in more ways than he'd ever thought possible. It was enough to shake him to his core.

"Can we grab some coffee and talk?" he asked suddenly.

He'd startled her again. It was almost cute, the way she froze momentarily before recovering her professionalism in order to address him. He watched her as she shifted in slight discomfort at the offer.

"I have a lot of typing to do. This all has to get reformatted," she began.

"Just a cup of coffee, down the street, to talk about work. And if you think Harry can't spare you, I can clear it for you," he offered with a pointed nudge at his position.

She bit her lip. "You want to talk about work? We can do that here," she offered.

"We could, but everyone here looks at me like they're about to have a panic attack. Everyone but you, that is. And no one knows me as anything but the guy that leaves a good tip at the coffee shop down the street."

She made her decision, her defenses weakening from the professional air that she carried around her. "Sure. Let's go get some coffee."

-X-

It was a post-lunch lull that allowed them their choice of seats in the mid-sized café. He ordered two coffees and joined her at a small bistro table, with two chairs and not much space for anything other than coffee mugs. He hung his jacket over the back of his chair as she'd done, though she'd kept her colorful scarf around her neck. Winter wouldn't break in their part of the country for many more weeks, and the chill in the air often sunk into one's bones by the time a destination was reached, even with proper winter wear. Coffee was one antidote that cut right to the source of the chill. Once their drinks arrived in front of them, he also noticed that her first sip brought a bright sparkle to her eyes. He wrapped his hands around the warmed ceramic mug, displacing much needed heat so he wouldn't burn his tongue out of impatience.

"Good coffee," she said after her second sip.

"Not quite as good as yours, but yes. It's good," he said from experience rather than the current liquid before him.

She glanced shyly down at her mug at the compliment. "If you have to tell me something bad, you really don't need to compliment me first. I'm a big girl, I can take it."

He was perplexed at her assumption. Though, on quick review, she was aware that he was cutting back on staff and pulling people privately aside to avoid a scene. He reached out and lightly bumped his hand to hers. "I don't have anything bad to say to you. I was actually hoping you'd do me a favor."

She stared down at his hand, which was still resting next to hers, until he removed it and put it safely back on his own mug. The back of her hand had still been chilled and in need of warmth, but it was clear he had no business as her boss in providing that service. "Favor? From me?"

"I keep thinking about what you said last week in the conference room."

She seemed reticent to accept any favor he might have in mind. "What did I say?"

"About Doyle letting you proof his copy. Here's the thing, I know you're an intern, and that entails a lot of grunt work that has nothing to do with the reason why you wanted the gig, other than it allowed you a visual representation of the job you're interested in. But the reality of my situation is I have more work than people we have money to pay for to accomplish said work. And if you want to keep on reorganizing closets and making coffee and refilling Harry's antacids, that's fine. I can't blame you for not wanting to take on a more active role, but if I have an intern with the kind of promise you seem to have, I'd be stupid not to try to get you more involved."

Rory considered his conveyed mindset. "So, you aren't letting me go?"

"You're free labor. And you make the good coffee. I might not know everything about the newspaper business, but I know a good thing when I see it."

"Wow. If you're sure you want me to do more, I'm game."

His expression turned serious. "My methods might be considered a little unorthodox. I'm going against my father's specific instructions for what do to with this publication, but I believe in giving it my all, my own way. It's going to be a lot of hard work and long hours, but all I expect from you is your regularly scheduled time. I know you're in school and have other obligations to fulfill. It's just I know the organization you're a part of and the background that comes with that, and I need all the help I can get."

If she'd doubted him before, his honesty had sealed her decision. "I'm happy to help in whatever ways I can."

His reaction was equally genuine, and as he smiled at her with true enthusiasm for the work they had in front of them, he wondered if she always drew people out like she did him. He'd never been anything short of exposed emotionally to her, this near stranger. The only things they had in common was a short man with a nervous disorder and the same bad luck that his father had seen fit to throw them into the same arena on the same day. Their attitudes about which, he didn't need to be reminded, had been strikingly opposed. It was wholly possible that they had nothing else in common, besides a strong work ethic, and even then his kicked in when it suited him and hers seemed to be something she carried with her at all times, as if she might find herself lost without it.

"That's the best news I've had in weeks," he said effusively.

She took a longer sip of her coffee, a sign that she was enjoying it rather than simply in need of the jolt. "Can I ask you a question?"

The expression on her face reminded him once again that he was her superior. He was someone she would ask permission from and do her best to please. She would refer to him as people spoke to his father, and he felt his skin crawl at the connotations. He did his best to smile warmly despite the discomfort it caused him. "Anything you like."

She glanced at him with a quick double-take—her nonverbal way of conveying that she knew it was just an expression and by no means would she ever ask him about certain topics, even if she were curious about him in ways more than was work-appropriate. She parted her lips before she spoke and he was momentarily transfixed at her simple beauty. There was nothing artificial about her, from her polite hesitation to her modest attire. "What were your father's instructions?"

"To salvage what I could in the next six months, so when we dismantled the publication, we could send our best resources to bigger, more stable papers and reinvest in better options."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Why would he buy the paper if he was just going to shut it down?"

He eyed her warily. "Have you met my father?"

She shook her head, her hands firmly around her mug again. "No. I got a letter from his office, congratulating me on my internship. He's a legend—everyone wants to work for him."

He tilted his head and eased back in his chair off his elbows. "Not everyone. And not all legendary figures are all they're cracked up to be. For most people, meeting my dad is like finding out that the real Santa is just some overweight guy from Jersey who gets paid peanuts to sit in a mall in a fake beard and listen to kids, while he waits for his next smoke break."

"Sounds like you have a love-hate relationship with him," she offered optimistically.

"Yeah, if you drop the love part," he corrected quickly, without any emotion other than bitterness behind his words. "I don't mean to shatter any illusions you might be operating under, but Mitchum Huntzberger deals for whatever will make him the most money. And if buying some small circulation paper that's hemorrhaging money but has enough talent to salvage once he's purchased their loyalty, it's no skin off his nose what happens to the rest of the parts that he has no use for."

The way she looked at him in that moment, it was as if she saw him not for what he was, but for who he wanted to be. Her shrewd but kind eyes focused on him with hope that he'd answer her next question a certain way. "But you aren't going to do that?"

He smiled. "I have a few ideas. Some have called them radical, and that's the nicest way they've phrased it. But if it works, then the only layoffs I'll have to do are the ones I've done, and maybe we can do some hiring in a year or so."

She bit her bottom lip in an irresistibly cute manner, as if she were trying to hold back a contagious smile. She wasn't one to be easily swayed by good looks, charm, or even unabashed optimism from a direct superior. "You sound inspired."

"I am. And having an editorial intern that is worth her weight in gold seems like the kind of good luck I'm going to need to pull this off. When we get back, I have a couple of calls to make, and then this afternoon I'm going to have a meeting where I roll out my initial changes. I'd like you to sit in on as many of these meetings as you can. I want everyone on board, from my senior editors to the guy that bring sandwiches around at lunch."

Now her amusement was clear. "Jordan?"

He nodded. "Yes, Jordan the sandwich guy. If they work under my roof, I need them on board. I want an office where people to work together collaboratively, with me especially, instead of hiding under their desks because the boss is around."

Rory shook her head at his visual. "They hide in the mail room. Joaquin, the mail guy, he runs the office lottery pool."

"You sure know a lot about the office happenings for an intern."

She shrugged a shoulder. "People don't care what they say in front of an intern."

He smiled. "Then I was right. You definitely are my most valuable asset."

The implications of their conversation hit her, causing her discomfort and she made eyes for the door. "I'm not really comfortable spying on people," she said, backing down from what he'd sold as a collaborative effort.

He shook his head and held up a hand, trying to stop her from taking her leave without him. "I'm not asking you to enter into corporate espionage on my account—unless that's the kind of thing you're into," he said by way of making a joke. Her frown was enough to convince him she wasn't in the mood for comic relief.

"Mr. Huntzberger," she began.

He'd had enough. His upbringing that demanded proper behavior and subdued emotions in the company of other people failed in that instance. He leaned in and put his hand on her forearm, causing her to attempt to shirk away, but he held her firmly enough to keep her in place. "Please stop calling me that. Every time you say that, I'm looking over my shoulder for my father and that is the last thing I need."

"What should I call you then, Boss?" she asked, tongue in cheek at his ruffled irritation.

He let go of her. "Sorry. It's a pet peeve of mine, and it's all I hear these days."

"If you're serious about wanting to salvage the paper," she began slowly.

"I am. My thought was that you'll better be able to get a feel for who is really on board and who is just lying to my face to prolong their paid job search," he explained.

"So, you mainly want me for my proofing abilities but the fact that I hear all the office scuttlebutt is also desirable?" she inquired.

"Did you just say scuttlebutt?" he asked, thoroughly distracted by her verbiage.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Is my vocabulary not an asset as well?"

"It is. You're brimming with assets. Assets as far as the eye can see," he said, leaving the land of propriety and delving straight into being at a small table set with warm drinks and a pretty girl.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders. "I'm not interested in anything outside of a working relationship."

He cringed again at the way he was coming across to her. It was as if his whole past was conspiring against him and the glimmer of hope he had for his near future. "I really am interested in your talents, and nothing more. I will try my hardest to cultivate my professionalism while going against all my father's wishes."

Her attempt to suppress her smile failed again. He thanked the universe for all the boyish charm he'd been blessed with. It didn't work so well with stuffy businessmen in suits that were obsessed with projection charts and data graphs. But with women, more often than not it worked to his advantage. Even with women such as the one sitting next to him, who for all intents and purposes appeared to know better than to get involved with the likes of him.

"So, no more fruit delivered to my door?" she inquired, proving she had suspected he had ulterior motives for making amends with their editor.

"We have a deal."

She gave a brief nod, pleased with their verbal agreement. "I think we do, Boss." She offered him her hand, her palm warm from the mug's transferred heat. Just like that, he had one person on his side.


	3. Nothing Ever Went Quite Exactly How We P

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Nothing Ever Went Quite Exactly How We Planned

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory stepped off the elevator and gave a little wave to the receptionist, who returned the gesture as she kept performing her endless duties flawlessly. Just upon entering the offices, she could tell people were moving at a faster clip and far more engaged in in-house duties than she'd witnessed in her limited exposure to the paper. If anyone was holed up in their private offices, they were doing so for work purposes and not just to avoid learning new ways in which their budgets were about to be slashed, including the loss of those they depended upon. Duties were being shared, no longer limited to specific individuals who would work tirelessly and thanklessly in their diligence week after week. Most of the tasks had been repackaged for the time being in order of importance and open to anyone with the proper experience, or in some cases, a willingness to learn.

She'd sat in on the meeting, as had everyone in the building per the boss' request, in which the new system was laid out. It was met, as expected, with hesitation and uncertainty, but Rory hadn't seen Harry reach for antacids once and as far as she knew he hadn't shopped his resume either. It wasn't the cornerstone of efficiency, but it was a far cry from the workplace it was only a month prior.

"Are you sure you want it done this way?" Harry asked, holding a proof in his hands.

Logan nodded, amused but confident in the face of direct questioning. "I am."

"Because it requires the deadline being moved up."

"By an hour," Logan said dismissively, with an easy shake of his head.

Rory watched as Logan did his best to win Harry over by acting as if it were only easy changes he was asking for. He'd won a lot of battles, one at a time, that way. Rory had been watching, under the guise of learning, but she had to admit it was something to see these older task masters bowing piece by piece to a new way of thinking.

"Gene's gonna plotz," Harry said finally.

"Gene is going to enjoy the efficiency this brings," Logan corrected. "I know change can be shocking at first, but it's an inevitability for all of us. Gene can adapt. At least, if he can't, then it gets into Darwinism and frankly, that's outside my scope."

Harry shrugged. "You're the boss. Hey, Gilmore, there's a stack of stuff that needs fact checking. Huntzberger says you can do it," he said, looking once more back to their leader, with a wary trust.

"Huntzberger is correct," Rory said eagerly as she slung her bag on the floor inside her cubicle and pulled out her chair. "What else you got for me, Boss?"

"That will take you all afternoon," Harry said, his tone dampening her eagerness.

"I believe she was talking to me," Logan corrected with a wink at Rory. "Once you're done, come see me. I'm sure I'll have something else for you to do."

Rory beamed. "Great."

"I feel like I've lost something," Harry said wistfully.

"You've still got your job," Logan said with a slap on his back.

"I gotta go talk to Gene," Harry said in a droll tone as he turned and walked away from them.

Rory shot Logan an impish smile as she logged onto her computer. "Harry seems torn."

"Harry's coming around. He just keeps his feelings inside," Logan said, putting a sunnier spin on the outlook.

"Harry probably just has enough antacid build-up inside him to get him through his chat with Gene," Rory mused.

"I'm a big proponent of whatever works," Logan said, tapping on her cubby with two fingers. "How long you think you'll be with those?"

Rory considered the stack. "Couple of hours. Why?"

"The accounting department got hit by the flu last week, and the germs migrated over to production. We have a layout deadline and two diehards that are doing more sneezing and zinc ingesting than actual boarding."

Her eyes widened. "You'd let me work on layout?"

He raised an appraising eyebrow. "Have you ever done it?"

She nodded. "Yeah, all the time at school, but this is a real paper."

"I hate to break it to you, but the Yale Daily News is a real paper. There are deadlines and jockeying for column size and ad space and the whole nightmare. The fact that people pay for our subscription is not a dividing issue in that regard. And I'm going to let you assist, not run the whole show."

Her eyes lit up as her joy filled her. "I'm yours. And I can stay late, if you need. My first class got cancelled in the morning. I think my professor is taking a personal day to finish reading our last assigned papers, but he claims he has a root canal."

Logan smirked. "I might take you up on that, depending on how things go between Harry and Gene."

Rory giggled at his remark and opened her first document to begin her work. "Poor Harry."

Logan made a tsking noise with his tongue. "Come find me when you're done. I'll get you a SARS mask and get you started."

"Sounds good, Boss," she said dutifully as he headed off toward his next stop in the office as she set to work. She got into a groove quickly, starting to make her completed stack larger than her to-be-completed stack in no time. Harry came wandering back when she still had a few to finish and leaned over her partition as if it were some form of life support.

"I hate these new kids."

She paused, frowning at the potential for him to be talking about her. "I'm sorry?"

"Not you. You're not annoying. You even smell nice, too," he said.

"Um, thanks?" she queried, not having expected either complement.

"I've been here through a few changes of hands, and the younger the guys are, the more they change. Like the newspaper business hasn't been surviving for decades without them."

"Things seem to be picking up around here," she offered.

Harry sighed. "It's all a distraction. He's going to pull the rug out from under everybody, make them hope that doing things backwards and upside down will help, but at the end of the day circulation is what it is. He can't revolutionize the whole damn industry."

"He can try," Rory supposed, trying to understand Harry's jaded opinion coming from many past experiences.

"Yeah, well, he'll still be faulted, even for trying. The more he takes on, the bigger a mess it'll all be. Gene blew a gasket when I changed his deadline. He's got a team of his own, that he has to convince to break all their habits that have been in place for more than a decade. I mean, hell, what's next? He's gonna have us trying to print the paper on biodegradable toilet paper and non-toxic food dye?"

"I think he'll settle for increased productivity and stop just shy of the toilet paper thing," Rory guessed. "Do you want the ones I have done already or would you rather wait until I'm all finished."

"I can take what you got," Harry said, standing up from his perch. She handed him the larger stack, and he was taken aback. "You're done with all these?"

Rory smiled sheepishly. "I read fast."

"Jeez, Gilmore. Pretty soon you'll have Huntzberger's job," he muttered as he started to head off with her finished product.

"I make no promises about toilet paper," she called out to him in jest.

She went back to her task, feeling accomplished in the moment and excited for her next project. It felt like her dream of working for a real newspaper was finally coming true. It was so much more exciting than any of her school papers, as honored as she was to work on them, and even though she still wasn't in a paid position she felt like she was getting real experience. She was finally getting a chance to show people her skills and wow them with her competency. The pieces were falling right into place for what she'd expected of her future.

-X-

"Your father called again."

"You already told me that," Logan said to his secretary, whom he was sharing with the city editor. The previous woman assigned to the last editor-in-chief retired when the paper changed hands, and in an effort to make due with less staff, Logan had usurped an existing employee. He didn't need his own secretary for much anyhow, other than apparently to field his father's calls and make sure he got in touch with key advertisers. He wished they were ringing his phone off the hook, but in reality he was far more often the one trying to get more of them on the line.

"Yes, and he's called three more times since then."

"Then maybe the old man needs a new hobby," he said, staring at a deal that he was pitching via teleconference to a new set of online advertisers. He'd had a meeting with several teams to handle a complete revamp of their online space, but he'd yet to make a final decision until financing was in place.

"He could take up golf,' she suggested.

Logan looked up. "He already plays golf. And polo. He really likes poker, but my mother hates the smell of cigar smoke when his group plays at the house, so he doesn't play as much as he likes."

"And still he has time to call his son twenty times a day."

"If only it were out of love and concern for my well-being. Thanks, Linda, I promise he will assume I'm the problem and not you."

She shook her head and went back to her desk, leaving him alone in his office. It was a minimalist space, or it was before he'd started to fill it with charts and graphs and projections, most of which were leaning up against the walls. There were stacks of reports from all departments. None of it was personal, but it was less echo-inducing than on his first day, when every movement seemed to reverberate off the walls until he thought his head would crack from the pain.

There was a knock at his doorframe, and he expected to see Linda standing there with that look on her face—the one that was tired of not nagging him to just call his father back already. Instead he saw the bright, energetic smile of Rory Gilmore waiting to see him.

"I'm here for my mask," she joked genially.

"Come on in," he said, waving her in. She took a hesitant step in, eying the space while forming her opinion.

"Do you like charts?" he asked with a laugh as she started to leaf through the ones stacked up against his desk.

"I love all graphic representations of information."

He frowned. "You're serious."

She shrugged. "It's all so organized and visual. What's not to love?"

"It's depressing. Look at the trending direction. That's a cost analysis-to-asset ratio. It's supposed to go the other way," he said, pointing to the poster-sized piece she was surveying.

"But it's clear. It tells you everything you need to know with one glance," she supplied.

"Yes. Unfortunately, it does," he agreed sadly.

She turned her big blue eyes on him. "Things are still going badly?"

He shrugged off the melancholy. "It's too early to tell. So far I've confused enough people to keep them distracted from hating me. If I save their jobs, then they'll like me. If not, they'll go back to hating me, but at least then I'll deserve their ire."

"At least you get a reprieve," she offered.

"It does help to know that not everyone hates me," he said with a small smile.

"I'm not sure you can count people who aren't depending on you for their livelihood. You don't pay me."

"Still, having someone around who smiles and enjoys being here in and of itself is refreshing. I should pay you for your attitude alone," he assured her.

"You can hire me the second I graduate. I should probably have a degree to fall back on, in case my attitude changes," she said lightly.

"I'll have contracts drawn up by the end of the week," he said, his sincerity clouding his attempt at playful repartee. "Have you been down to Layout yet?"

She shook her head. "Harry sort of pointed in the general direction on my way to Human Resources on my first day."

"Harry might need a few pointers on how to properly welcome new staff."

She shrugged. "He told me I smelled nice."

Logan had no words for that. She did smell nice. He could tell her that, but then he'd be admitting that he noticed, and he was fairly certain that while she would laugh off Harry's mentioning the fact, he doubted he could play off his own personal observations of her. Normally it would be no secret that he found her physically attractive, but after her blunt proclamation that she had no interest in him beyond a working relationship, he worried about giving her cause to doubt his intentions.

"Harry's a man who knows what he likes," he said awkwardly, wondering where his usual way with words had gone.

"So, Layout?" she asked, forgiving him his moment of awkwardness.

He stood up and shut the folder he was working on. "This way."

She kept pace beside him, even in what looked to be dangerously high heels, a feat that never ceased to amaze him. Most girls teetered around on the things in a harrowing manner, but she had seemed to master the skill like every other task she set her mind to conquering. The fact that they elongated her already long legs was a detriment to his professional decorum. "So, you have a boyfriend?"

He shouldn't have asked it. It took her by surprise, his interest in her personal life. Her steps faltered, but she was graceful enough to catch her balance and continue on the arduous shoes. "What?"

The line of thought had been clear in his mind—he'd been thinking about her legs and the way she'd shut him down preemptively before—but relaying his inner chatter seemed a very bad idea. Usually quick on his feet, he found himself at a loss to explain it to her satisfaction. "Just making conversation."

"Oh. Well, in that case, no. No boyfriend."

"That's a shame."

He winced at his choice of comeback. He was better than this. Pretty girls didn't cause him that level of social anxiety. Pretty girls were his favorite thing in the whole world, his favorite pastime as it were. This pretty girl had no interest in whiling away the hours with him unless it was for journalistic pursuits, and both of those derivations from his preferred manner of enjoyment should have been enough to focus on business in her presence. But despite all his inclinations and years spent building up a general loathing for hard work in the path his father had chosen for him, he found she was far more enchanting than any other pretty girl he'd ever encountered.

"Not really. I mean, some people need relationships to be happy, I guess, but I've never really put dating at the top of my list."

He turned his head sharply to discern whether or not she was joking. "Oh, really?"

"I mean, I've had boyfriends. I just got out of a relationship, in fact. But it's hard, isn't it, when you're in school and working? It would probably be easier if I just dated casually, not getting tied down in long-term relationships," she mused aloud, as if it were just occurring to her for the first time.

"It would take any work out of the equation," he said as they rounded the corner.

"Exactly. My roommate keeps trying to get me to try speed dating. She's all about efficiency."

He frowned. "Speed dating? What's that, dinner at a drive-through and heading back to the guy's place after the movie previews?"

She smiled at his gap in knowledge. "No. It's where twelve guys stand in a room where twelve girls are seated, and you get five minutes to talk to each person of the opposite sex."

He couldn't quite believe this was an activity that anyone that looked like she did would take part in. "People do this?"

She nodded, stifling a giggle. "Yes."

"On purpose?"

She shook her head at him. It was elating, for her to be amused by him for any reason. "Yes. It's very common among working professionals."

"But you're in college. You must meet interesting guys all the time. You could go out any night of the week and no fewer than ten guys would hit on you. Am I right?"

"That has never happened to me," she admitted.

He found this equally hard to believe. "Where do you hang out?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "Recently? Here," she said.

"And Harry's already taking a shine to you," he mused.

She laughed out loud. "What about you?"

"I don't think Harry has any special feelings for me," he teased.

"I meant are you dating someone?" she said, composing herself.

He shook his head. He didn't date someone. He dated anyone. Whomever he chose, whenever the mood struck him. "No. I don't do that."

"You don't date?" she clarified skeptically.

He smiled knowingly. "I date. I just date casually, as I believe you described it."

"And? Is it easier than having a long-term relationship?" she asked, waiting for her theory to be proven.

"I wouldn't know. I've never had one."

She looked at him in astonishment. "You must have."

He shook his head. "Why?"

She gestured to him. "Why wouldn't you?"

He considered the question. It wasn't a fact about himself he'd ever put to reflection before. "I have a short attention span."

She nodded, seemingly accepting his answer. "Okay then. So, this is it?" she said, as they entered their destination.

"This is it. Jump in; let me know where the problem spots are. I'll be here unless I have to take calls from potential new revenue sources."

She asked no further questions, she just sat down at a workstation and dove in. He felt good in the choices he was making, the chances he was taking. His confidence was assuring to those he was asking for change, and he'd depended almost exclusively on that working in his favor. There were no other examples for him to draw from, and the numbers were not in his favor. His father had engrained in him to trust his gut, even though his father called to question every last decision his son had ever made. It was one key reason that he'd kept his decisions of late under wraps from his father's watchful eyes. So he'd keep involving interns and assuring Harry and hoping that they could pull along the rest of the old timers as they tried to bridge the gap to the future. It was their only hope—and hope was a blindingly new concept for him.

-X-

"Go home."

"I'm almost done," she said willfully, her fingers still clicking on the keyboard faster than her mind was truly processing.

"It can wait."

"But I won't be here tomorrow. I'll be sleeping in and if this doesn't get done then someone else will have to finish it along with a bunch of other stuff they don't have time to do. The worst that happens to me is I miss breakfast, and I really never have time for that anyway."

Logan crossed his arms and stood his ground. "Log out."

She pouted, more for effect than anything else. "Five more minutes."

He shook his head. "I'm leaving. We're the last ones here. And I'm not leaving you to walk alone to your car."

"But," she began, but he pulled her rolling chair with her along with it from the desk.

"Back away from the computer. You're going to need bifocals when you're twenty-five."

"My vision is perfect," she assured him.

He smiled at her insistence, in a way that made her warm. She brushed off the momentary connection she felt. "You're the boss, don't you want everything done?"

He tapped the mouse to set the computer to shut down. "It's never done. The news never stops and all we can hope for is to meet deadlines. Ours has passed, the paper will come out tomorrow, and all this will wait for tomorrow. I'll do it instead of taking my father's phone calls."

She looked up at him from her still seated position on the chair. "Your father?"

"My one and only, unfortunately."

"Is he coming here?"

He snorted. "That would indicate I was some sort of priority in his life. We'll talk soon so he can tell me the dozen or more ways I've been slacking in my work life, and possibly throw in a barb about how I'm not getting any younger and that male heirs don't produce themselves."

Rory bit back a smile. "You could try speed dating."

He made no attempt to hold in his smile. "I still don't think that's a real thing."

She cocked her head at him. "Okay, then. You could tell him that you don't need to be in a hurry because men can produce viable sperm until they die."

"I'm not sure that will be much of a comfort to my father, but I'll pass on the trivia nonetheless," he said genially, and she could tell that he found her amusing. She felt slightly foolish, like a naive college kid. She didn't want him to view her that way. When he offered to let her take on a much more active role, she thought that maybe, just maybe he viewed her as sophisticated and capable.

"Glad I could help," she offered lamely.

"If you really wanted to help, you'd be my date to the dinner I have to attend next weekend," he said offhandedly, the likes of which startled them both. "I just mean that it's going to be mind-numbing and dull and it would be great to have someone to actually talk to for once at one of those things. I didn't mean to sound like I was asking you to come with me," he said, explaining his prior comment.

"A bunch of your father's friends?" she guessed, not delving into the specifics of his lexicon.

"My father doesn't have friends. He has acquaintances and associates that kiss his ass in exchange for his not trashing them at the next party," he said distastefully.

"Good times," Rory said dryly.

"You have no idea," he assured her. "I wouldn't put anyone I like through that kind of an evening."

She wasn't quite sure what to say to that, seeing as he'd sort of just implied he would bring her along before almost violently backing out of the idea. Suddenly her body adjusted to the late hour and she became keenly aware that they were the last two people in the office.

"I should get going. I don't want to miss the last bus back to campus."

He stared in bewilderment. "The bus?"

She nodded. "Yeah. There's a direct line."

"At this hour? You can't take a bus at this hour."

"I don't plan on walking, so yeah, I can," she argued back, unsure as to why he was so against her mode of transportation.

"Don't you have a car?" he posed.

She nodded. "I do, but the oil light came on yesterday so I took it to the dealer."

If he didn't enjoy the idea of the bus, the fact that she'd mentioned the car dealer was enough to blow the top of his head off. "Why would you take your car to the dealer?"

"The oil light came on," she said more slowly, as if he'd not quite heard her the first time.

"The dealer is such a rip off. Didn't your dad ever tell you that?"

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest. Her defenses kicked in. "No."

He realized that he'd committed some kind of social faux-pas and instantly began attempting to ease the damage he'd done. "Let me take you back to your dorm."

"I take the bus all the time. Just because you're uncomfortable with the idea doesn't mean that it's not a perfectly economical and reliable form of transportation."

"I'm not suggesting that the bus is beneath me," he began, defending himself from her scathing tone.

"Really?" she asked knowingly, wishing he'd just admit his feelings of superiority. After all, she wasn't blind. She'd seen his type at school—the rich frat boys that bounced from prep school to prep school and got by on their money and charm. Heck, her father was that type, minus the college education.

"I was concerned for your safety. It's late, and even if you do catch the last bus, then it might not be the safest environment for a woman to take alone."

"I can take care of myself," she said, willing her words to have enough bravado behind them. "I have a whistle and mace."

"I'm sure you could put any man in copious amounts of pain, should they attempt to harm you," he conceded.

"Good, then. I should go."

He stood up, blocking her path while shaking his head. "Sorry. I can't let you take the bus."

"Why not?" she cried out.

"I'd feel much better knowing you got home safely."

"You want me to let you take me home for your own peace of mind?" she inquired, her eyebrows furrowing in consternation.

"I think so, yes."

She let out a groan. "I'm exhausted. Talking to you is exhausting," she complained.

He smiled. "So you'll let me take you?"

She tossed up a hand and let it fall back to her side lazily. "Fine. It's late. I don't want to argue, despite the deep-rooted feministic sensibilities that are being trodden all over at my dropping the fight," she uttered.

"If it makes you feel any better, I don't think of you as any less of a woman for letting a man come to your aid."

She glared at him haplessly. "Tons better. Thanks."

She slipped her bag, with the whistle and the mace still rolling around under the weights she'd dropped in on top of them, and followed his lead out of the office.

-X-

"Turn here," she began, her tired from pointing from his passenger side.

He smirked in the darkness. "I know. I've been here before, remember?"

She gave a heavy, single nod. "Right. Fruit."

He glanced her way as she gave an unapologetic yawn. He'd never been with a girl who acted so comfortably around him—not being on simply to keep his interest. Indeed it was quite late, and after the long hours of work they'd each put in that day, he couldn't blame her for being more excited to hit her pillow than to chat with him for one more second. It was an interesting contrast to any other ride home he'd experienced with a member of the opposite sex. "Can I ask you something?"

Her head lolled his direction, the back of it pressed into the leather of his headrest. "Sure."

"Why do you want to be a journalist?"

Her tired blue eyes lifted for a moment as she considered her answer. And he should have known she'd choose her words carefully, in answer to her first real-world boss asking such a question. He wanted the answer from the girl he'd argued with just before they left the office. Part of him was hoping that in her tired state, her defenses would be down and she'd be the real version of herself that didn't have to impress her boss.

"I want to experience as many different realities as I can. As long as I can remember, I've written down my thoughts, in journals or stories. It seemed like the perfect combination of who I am and what I want to see."

Her answer was substantial, and probably the exact answer she would have given some guy at a bar who'd asked the same question. That, he was starting to realize, was her draw. She wasn't putting her best foot forward to impress him—she was doing it because she loved what she was doing. He just happened to be the guy she was doing it with.

"I wish I felt like that," he said, jealous of her inspiration.

She stared at him quizzically. "Doyle says you're a great writer."

"He did not," he said, trying to catch her in a lie, even if it was a lie to make him feel good about himself.

She shook her head. "Swear to God."

"Did you ask Doyle about me?" he asked as the connection occurred to him.

She turned her head back to face forward and shrugged one shoulder. "Just in passing. We were passing the time before Paris got back from her lab. He said you could write better than anyone else on the paper that he'd seen, but trying to get you to put pen to paper was like trying to get a kitten on meth to sit still."

He couldn't help but laugh at Doyle's assessment of him. "I do love to procrastinate."

"He seemed to think you had more difficulty stopping the party to work," she said gently.

"That too. College was a good time, I'm not going to lie."

"You seem to have buttoned everything down and turned over a new leaf. Look at what you've done so far at the paper," she complimented him.

"I have no idea what the hell I'm doing," he said, baring his soul to her.

She smiled at his honesty. "Don't worry. I won't tell anyone. You act like you've got everything completely under control."

"My plan is to keep that up until I actually do."

"Like a self-actualizing mantra?" she asked with disproportionate skepticism.

"I'm not promising it'll actually work," he admitted.

"I'm glad to get to be working with such industry giants," she teased.

The joke had a sobering effect on him, and he turned to look at her in the dark of the car. "Would you like a meeting with my dad?"

His question roused her from her weary state. "Like an informational interview?"

He shrugged. "Sure. Just a sit down, make a contact, pick his brain. Just because it's the last thing I'd ever want to have to do—to sit down with my father over a cup of coffee and ask him to talk about his life—doesn't mean you shouldn't want that."

She blinked, realizing just how wide her eyes had gotten. "That would be… great."

"Then I'll set it up," he said definitively.

Proper words of gratitude failed her at the more than generous offer. It was his mode of operation, it seemed, in regard to her that day—giving her precious experience she might not otherwise have gotten at the paper, giving her a lift home, and now setting up a meeting with his father, who was the one guy every aspiring reporter hoped to get to shake hands with, let alone have a whole conversation. "Thank you."

"It's not a problem," he assured her, trying to shut down her appreciation.

"It's a great opportunity. And I wouldn't have it if not for you," she said, doing her best to make him accept her gratitude.

He pulled the car into the nearest parking lot to her dorm. "Trust me, I'm not doing you any favors."

"But you are," she argued.

"If you want to thank me for something, thank me for the ride. That's the only thing I've done for your benefit."

"You didn't give me much of a choice in the matter," she said, gaping at his logic.

"You would have rather spent an hour on a bus alone at night, assuming you didn't miss your connection and spend the night stranded at a bus stop, than have me deliver you to your door in the comfort of a climate-controlled vehicle?"

"Do you always assume that every woman would rather be with you than any other option they might have?" she asked, turning it back on him.

"Excuse me?" he asked, offended despite any underlying belief in the truth of her assumption.

"I mean, I get that you're charming and rich and you have a really fancy car, but there is nothing wrong with the bus. I'm a college student who takes her car to the dealer when dash lights come on, and I want to meet one of my journalistic idols, and there's nothing wrong with any of that," she defended in a huff of emotion.

There was silence in the car, a heavy sense of understanding hanging between them. He wet his bottom lip and put his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head stoically. "You don't have to be sorry. I shouldn't have gotten so worked up."

"No, if I offended you somehow, that was not my intent," he said, giving support to her issue.

"I really am grateful, for the ride and the offer," she gushed a little, overcompensating for her harsher tone earlier.

He smiled. "I know."

"And if there's something I can do for you," she offered in an open-ended fashion, as she was almost certain there was nothing she had access to that he would need from her.

"I appreciate that," he said with a wave of his hand. "Do you want me to walk you in? Looks like there's a street light out," he said, taking notice of what was the current bane of her roommate's existence.

"I'm fine, really. My door's a few hundred feet away. You know," she said at last, realizing he'd taken the route before. "Unless you want something to drink. We should have soda and water, unless Doyle's drained our reserves again," she said, thinking aloud. She wished she could stop doing that in front of him of all people. It was one thing to do in front of her mother or any of her close friends, but the ability to hold back any kind of verbal overflow from her constant mental chatter was something she wished was easier to handle. She couldn't believe how much it threw her, having her boss feel more like a peer than anything else.

"Maybe another time," he said, allowing her to make her departure from their evening of arguing and repeated apologies.

"Right. Thanks again."

He smiled at her, his warm brown eyes creasing similarly to the corners of his mouth. He was charming and easy to talk to—or, at times, argue with. It translated easily into him being downright engaging, or at any rate impossible to ignore. She's pushed off these separate facts, attributing them to his being her boss—her possibly alcoholic and under-qualified young boss at that. But at that moment, as she went to depart from his car before the day turned into the next, it was a source of tangled confusion.

"My pleasure," he said, finally not arguing with her or trying to convince her that she owed him nothing at all for the allowances he'd made for her. He owed her nothing, and he'd been so generous with anything she seemed in need of, even without her asking for any of it.

With a simple smile, she unlatched her door and stepped out into the cold night air, pulling her jacket closed as she hurried toward the door to her dormitory, where she'd once again be enveloped in warmth and security. She couldn't help but wonder if he truly would never want anything from her in return for his kindness.

-X-

He didn't feel like going straight home. He should have, as he knew without double checking his schedule that it was packed the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that—each of those days starting at an early hour. The list of things he still needed to secure before speaking to his father was formidable. The old man was still going to laugh at him, once he heard the finer details of his plan, but his chances of getting shut down before proof of his failure could manifest were far lesser if he went in with lists of advertisers and new revenue streams, in writing with signed contracts, to prove to his father that there were, in fact, people in the world willing to take a chance on him—even if his father wasn't among them.

It was a fight that would be grueling, and possibly unending. It caused a weariness that was only felt in the marrow of one's bones. Watching one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever come in contact with leave his car for the frosty air and a single bed did nothing to shake him from his doldrums. She possessed tenacity and self-righteous indignation in spades, he realized as she argued with him over such matters that might never have been called into question by anyone else. Who in their right mind turns down a ride from a trusted source, when the alternative left you shivering in the cold with only a basic plastic partition to break the force of the biting wind before boarding a large vehicle full of strangers late at night? Her only argument was that she was capable of taking care of herself, really, and it hadn't occurred to him that he was attempting to take care of her.

After all, he didn't take care of anyone. His interests were limited to him most times. Not to say he wasn't liberal with his wealth. He saw nothing wrong with buying rounds for near-total strangers or showering his dates with excessive trinkets in lieu of actual feelings. He found it was easier than getting involved in more messy, complicated relationships. His relationship with his family was enough. He wanted time spent with the fairer sex to be carefree and fun. With enough alcohol, it often overrode the fact that girls content with that kind of relationship were difficult to listen to or, for that matter, converse with.

Nevertheless, he wasn't about to give up on a system that had worked for him for years. One girl with sharp wit and a sense of middle-class superiority wasn't about to get the better of him. If she'd rather sit down for a chat with his old man instead of heading to a bar for happy hour with him, that was her loss. He would go to the bar anyhow, just to prove to himself that she had no effect on him. It'd been too long since he'd been to his old college haunts, to enjoy the spirits that had sustained him during his tenure on that campus.

He got out of his car and decided to walk across campus to get into the spirit of the outing despite the cold, secure in the knowledge that it was one situation where he was completely confident. Let the idealistic intern have her feministic ideals and her organized office space. The night was still young, and his problems would be there whenever he got around to dealing with them.


	4. Could We Change the Subject Now?

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Could We Change the Subject Now?

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory opened her dorm room door late the next morning, to see her mother smiling excitedly despite waiting in the chilly air for entrance. She was well prepared, in her favorite puffy winter coat, and a colorful matching knit hat and scarf.

"Morning!"

"Shhh!" Rory urged in a hushed tone as she let her mother into the warm confines of the common area.

Lorelai took a few steps in, but stopped short as she took in the prominent change to the scenery. "Hey. New roomie?"

Rory let out a heavy sigh, without looking to the couch. She'd gotten a good enough view when she first emerged from her room a little earlier. "Nope."

Lorelai gave a little start. "Wait. Did he… follow you home?"

Rory quirked her head in thought. "Not exactly. Think of him like a drunken little puppy that someone took pity on before he could freeze to death."

Lorelai put an affirming hand on her daughter's shoulder. "You have a good heart."

"Not me," Rory contradicted. "Doyle found him outside on our bench and offered use of our couch," she said, using air quotes with the possessive pronoun.

"So, you do have a male roommate," Lorelai said, pointing a finger at her.

"No, Paris has a male roommate with a liberal guest policy," Rory corrected again. "I'm just over there, minding my own business. Did I mention our visitor is my boss?"

Lorelai's eyes widened as she peered at the snoozing blonde. "This is the Huntzberger media king?"

"Not quite—this is the prince."

Lorelai considered him. "Doesn't look much like a prince. I think he lost his crown. Maybe it's in your couch cushions. Why did he come here?"

Rory sighed. "Maybe he never left. He brought me home last night, because he's a bus fascist, and…," she began, but her mother cut her off.

"I'm sorry. A bus fascist?"

"He and I were working late at the office," Rory began again, only to be interrupted a second time.

"Is that code for doing naughty things in the copy room?" Lorelai asked with a motherly cringe.

"No. We were both at the office, working, and were the last two to leave, and he wouldn't let me go to the bus stop by myself at night."

"I like him more already," Lorelai said appreciatively.

"I'm an adult. I can make it home on my own."

"I understand. I fully support your feminist ideals. But as your mommy, I'm glad the nice young man gave you a safe ride home. This was before he ingested the gallon of whiskey, wasn't it?"

Rory sighed. "Can we discuss this at breakfast?"

Lorelai pointed at Logan. "Are you just going to leave him there?"

Rory waved her hand. "He's not my problem. He obviously needs to sleep it off, and Doyle let him in. I need to eat."

Lorelai furrowed her brow. "Okay. But he's your boss, not to mention he's asleep on your couch."

"So?"

"So, what if he wakes up and decides to rifle through your underwear drawer?"

Rory grimaced. "He wouldn't do that. He'll probably wake up realizing he's in a strange place, an event he's surely experienced before in his life, and make for the door as quietly as possible. He can use his key fob to find his car, and he'll go on his way."

"So, we don't like this boss," Lorelai said in a more modulated voice as she followed her daughter into the breezeway.

Rory wound her own scarf around her neck. "What? No, he's an okay boss."

"But you don't like him being at your place," Lorelai pointed out.

"Of course not. It's weird. I mean, he's my boss. He's not a student, and while I can appreciate the ride home on some level, I didn't invite him over. We have a working relationship, and nothing more. He shouldn't be waking up at my place."

Lorelai smiled and patted her gloved hands together. "So, you've thought about it."

Rory jerked to look at her mother. "Thought about what?"

"Thought about him, in a non-work related way," she said with a heavy lilt.

Rory sighed, not wanting to expound on the topic. "He came over with fruit."

Lorelai appeared confused at the tie-in as they continued through the campus. "Last night?"

"No. He brought Doyle, who used to be his editor at the _Daily News_ as well, fruit after I told him that Doyle practically lives at my place. It was supposed to be some sort of peace offering for having to deal with him during his party years."

"It would appear those aren't over yet. But I guess that makes perfect sense, seeing as he's your boss. He can't bring you gifts at home. He has to play his hand just right or he's looking at lawsuits."

"That's insane."

"No, that is the reality of doing business in the real world. Especially for a guy who looks like that and likes to bring fruit to pretty young interns' dorm rooms."

"The fruit wasn't for me!" Rory exclaimed.

"Oh, honey. That fruit was for you," Lorelai said knowingly.

"Can we talk about something other than passion fruit?"

Lorelai let out a bark of laughter. "Good one!"

Rory stared at her quizzically. "What?"

"The joke you made. Passion fruit."

"That wasn't a joke. That's the kind of fruit he brought."

Lorelai let out a whole peal of laughter. "You're not serious?"

"It doesn't matter what kind of fruit it was, it still wasn't for me. It was," Rory began, irritated at her having to repeat herself so much to her mother.

"I know, I know, for Doyle. Just like Doyle was the one that let him in last night?" Lorelai asked skeptically.

"I was as surprised as you were to see him on the couch. The last time I saw him was last night, in his car before I came in alone and went to bed."

"What exactly happened in his car?"

Rory hesitated, knowing her mother would only read more into the honest answer to that question. "He offered to set up a meeting for me with his dad."

"Wait, I know this one. His dad is the media king?"

Rory nodded. "Exactly. It's a huge opportunity."

Lorelai raised a finger in the air. "An opportunity, much like the ride home itself, that would leave you feeling in some way indebted to him? Or in some way desiring to partake of his passion fruit?" Lorelai pitched forward in uncontrollable giggles while getting the last two words out.

"I'm not indebted to him. I mean, sure he gave me a ride home at late hour when I'd have had to endure the cold and possibly sketchy characters on the bus, and yes, he's giving me a chance to have his father's full attention for the length of at least a cup of coffee, and, okay, sure, maybe he shouldn't let an intern do more than make copies, let alone work on layout and proofread final copy, but none of that means I owe him other than my best efforts at the office."

Lorelai put her arm around her daughter's shoulders. "Of course it doesn't. And if you want to sue him for his trying to hock his fruit at your doorstep, I'll make sure you have the top sexual harassment guy in the business."

Rory opened the door to the food hall. "I don't need a guy. Logan might need professional help of some kind, but that's his business. I will certainly give Doyle a piece of my mind about whom he lets crash on our couch, but Logan isn't my problem."

"You call him Logan?" Lorelai asked with raised eyebrows.

Rory handed over her card to the card swiper. "It's his name."

"Yeah, if he was some guy who was bringing you fruit, but he's your boss. Shouldn't you call him something a little more formal than his Christian name?"

Rory handed her mother a tray. "He doesn't like it when people call him Mr. Huntzberger. He seems to have some pretty serious father issues."

Lorelai snorted. "Who doesn't?"

Rory shot her a withering glance. "I'm not discussing Dad."

Lorelai sighed. "That was not my intention. He says hi, though."

"Mom," Rory began.

"He and I are cool. There's no reason for you to be mad at him. He thinks I'm great, is that such a crime?"

"I'm not discussing Dad."

"Which leaves us with the man asleep on your couch," Lorelai said, dropping the other issue for the time being.

"Maybe it leaves us open for a whole other topic altogether. A clean break, doesn't that sound nice? How's work?" she asked, hopeful for her mother to take the hint and grant her a reprieve.

Lorelai put pudding on her tray and followed Rory toward a table. "Funny you should ask. We have this guy who keeps sleeping on our couch."

Rory stared blankly at her mother, wishing for just once, she had the kind of relationship with her mother that didn't involve full disclosure.

-X-

It wasn't the feel of the pen hitting his head that woke him up. That should have done the trick, especially given the sunlight that had been assaulting the side of his face for the better part of the last hour. What finally woke him up was the feel of his feet being lifted up and over the edge of the couch and left to the floor.

"I'm sorry, did my moving you so I could sit on my own couch disturb your beauty sleep?"

Even if he wanted to reply, his mouth was far too dry. He remained reclined from the waist up as he tried to remember what he'd ingested the night before, but his memory was lacking in a certain window of time. The room he saw when he opened his eyes was vaguely familiar, but in the way that most dorm rooms were familiar to someone that had been to college recently. It smelled too inviting to belong to a male, and the girl that was glaring at him was enough of a clue that he was in fact at a girl's dorm room. Except she didn't look like the kind of girl that he'd have a good time with—even at his drunkest state of being. She had definitely not enjoyed any time spent in his company.

"You know the best way to get all the rest you need? By sleeping in your own bed. You do have your own bed, don't you? Because your clothes reek of money, underneath the smell of all that bourbon. So I figure if you can afford those clothes and all that bourbon then you probably have some physical home of your own with a better place to rest than my couch. Unless we're dealing with a domestic situation, and then I can direct you to the nearest shelter if you ask nice."

"Scotch," he managed after her tirade.

Her frown deepened. "Excuse me?"

"It's scotch, not bourbon."

"I have mace and a rape whistle. I also know Krav Maga and have a hot glue gun plugged in for a craft project, so unless you'd like knock raging hangover from the top slot on your current list of ailments, I suggest you find someone outside to discuss your preferences for whiskey with."

"Coffee?" he inquired, not so much asking for a cup from her as a general navigational hint.

"The closest cart is two blocks to the east."

He stood up, staggered back as he caught his balance and patted his jacket for his wallet and car keys. "Thanks. For your couch. And for not being graphic about what you had in mind with the glue gun," he said as he made for the door. A wave of déjà vu hit him even as the pounding of his head got worse. "I've been here before."

"Yeah, well, make sure this is the last time, okay there Sleeping Beauty?" she asked as she shooed him out the door.

He found himself on the other side the slammed door, with no more memory than when he first pried his eyes open. He studied the outside of the door for a minute, and then decided that his inner sense of direction was still intact as he headed east to find the nearest source of coffee.

There was a line, as was his karmic load, and quite a long line at that. He felt suddenly out of place, in his wrinkled suit and dried out skin, the effects of being out too late too far from home at too old an age. Around him were college kids, on their way to or from class, in comfortable clothes that masked any late hours they'd kept or a need for a shower. They had ball caps and loungewear that made them blend into the crowd like co-ed camouflage. He on the other hand was late for work and had just enough time to collect his coffee and make it to his early afternoon meeting with advertisers that had the ability to make or break all his efforts thus far.

He had plenty of time to feel sorry about his state of affairs—for falling back onto such a crutch that he thought he'd begun to outgrow—as he shuffled his way up three or four people in line. He watched each customer leave with a cup of warm sustenance, whether they needed to be alert for a taxing lecture or just enough energy to help him get back to their beds for a late morning nap. He was fully ensconced in his inner monologue and self-pity, when he heard a familiar voice behind him, in the ever-cycling line.

"It's too cold."

"But the coffee will warm us up."

"We just got coffee. It's still in our hands."

"Yeah, but we're almost empty, and we still have a ways 'til we get back to your room."

"My room is right over there."

"But the coffee cart is right here."

Logan turned to see his intern and an equally attractive, though slightly older, woman arguing over the need to be the line they had joined. The déjà vu from earlier resurfaced, and he felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"Hey, isn't that your couch crasher?"

It was then he realized he wasn't just staring at Rory, but that they were making reluctant eye contact. He offered a pained smile. She returned the gesture. She wasn't nearly as irritated as the blonde that kicked him out of the suite, but she obviously wasn't thrilled at seeing him so soon again, either.

"Good morning."

"Is it still morning?" Rory asked knowingly.

"How'd you sleep?" Lorelai asked, the only member of the conversation at all entertained by the turn of fate.

"Excuse me?" he asked in return, wondering just who exactly her companion was.

"Mom," Rory chastised, revealing the answer to his unasked question.

"What? He was asleep on your couch. At least you know he doesn't snore."

He couldn't help but try to hide the smile that her commentary inspired. "Did I call you last night?"

Rory stared at him with a chilly indifference. "No. If you'd like to send more fruit by way of apology, you once again are indebted to Doyle."

"You're mad."

Rory shook her head, the gesture somehow cooling the already freezing air around him. "I'm not mad. I think it's weird and inappropriate, but what you do on your own time is none of my business. Though I suppose if you're going to be crashing on my couch and showing up to my place unannounced in general, I'm entitled to my opinion on how you spend your time at my personal expense."

"Let me buy your coffee," he offered, long having let the people between them in line go ahead of him.

Lorelai looked as if she might take him up on the offer, but Rory shook her head firmly in the negative. "I don't need you to do me favors to forgive your bad behavior."

"You are mad."

"I'm not mad. I'm annoyed. I'm put in an awkward position, but I'm not mad."

"I'm sorry," he said. "If it makes you feel any better, your roommate threatened me with bodily harm as she unceremoniously pushed me out of your suite."

Rory folded her arms over her winter wear. "Paris is mean to everyone. It hardly makes you special."

"It's true. She made their high school librarian cry on more than one occasion. She even unleashed her brand of psychological torture on several U.S. Senators, didn't she?" Lorelai asked Rory, trying to pull her out of the moment.

Logan smiled weakly at her mother's attempt to break the icy interaction, but kept his eyes trained on Rory. "Look, I have a meeting to get to, but I feel like I owe you a proper explanation."

Rory shrugged. "You don't owe me anything."

"Even so. Are you busy tomorrow evening? I'll get in touch with my father and I can give you details for that meeting and apologize with more than a cup of coffee."

They'd arrived at the front of the line, and he gave his order and instructed the barista to put both ladies' drinks on his bill.

Rory didn't respond to him until after they all had their drinks. He waited as patiently as he knew how, though he kept an expectant eye on her until she countered. "I suppose I am free tomorrow evening."

His expression brightened from that of hesitation and concern to his much more normal easy-going evenness. "Good. I really do need to get going. It was nice meeting you," he said, turning to her mother.

"Lorelai Gilmore. Proud mother of the best intern you'll ever have."

He nodded his agreement. "We'd be lost without her."

"I'm right here," Rory protested, not enjoying being talked about as if she were absent. "And I'm freezing. We have your coffee, can we go?"

"Tomorrow," he reminded her as he turned to take his leave and find where he might have left his car before he took to excess with the whiskey the night before.

She nodded curtly before she took her leave. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

-X-

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"This guy is everything you hate. Don't defend him."

Lorelai held up her hands as she sat on the couch that Paris had already disinfected. "I'm not defending him. Drinking to excess is wrong. I've learned that lesson countless times, be it standing on tables and dancing, or giving loud, embarrassing speeches, or having sex on balconies, I've learned it time and time again."

"I don't care if he drinks. It's his life and his liver. I just with he'd keep it out of my dorm room."

"Why didn't you just tell him you were mad?" Lorelai inquired curiously.

"He's my boss."

"Yeah, but he's your boss that slept on your couch. There's a very blurry line that separates your professional and personal time."

"Exactly. I would like to bring that line into very clear focus. Being overly emotional around him will not help that goal."

"So you just want him to leave you alone, unless he needs help with the newspaper?"

Rory nodded. "That is exactly what I mean."

"And you're planning to tell him just that when you meet with him, off the clock, tomorrow?"

Rory adamantly nodded yet again. "Yes."

"Even if he rescinds his offer to let you meet with his father?"

"I see what you're doing. And it won't work."

"What am I doing?"

"You think I find him charming and I might crack under his pressure and date him."

"I think no such thing. He is charming, and a little wayward, which I've always found attractive, but he's totally wrong for you."

Rory eyed her mother with great suspicion. "He is."

"I know a hundred guys exactly like him. He's privileged and arrogant and thinks the whole world revolves solely for his amusement. He never gives a thought to anyone else and his attention span is probably gnat-like."

Rory frowned. "Well, I mean, he is privileged, but he's actually quite self-effacing. He really cares about what he's doing at the paper, no matter the cost to him or his career. And he's one of the most generous people I've ever met."

Lorelai smiled. "See? Who would ever want to date a guy like that?"

-X-

He found himself nervous, partially because he had no idea just who would greet him. It could be a fresh-faced brunette, whose eyes were blue enough to inspire an ocean of dreams. It could be his old editor, a man who had a penchant for donning his girlfriend's loungewear and, despite having his own apartment, had taken up residence and felt at ease with inviting in drunks off the street, or in his case off the bench in the breezeway. Thirdly, it could be the much scarier option of the crazy blonde with a chip the size of the Great Wall of China on her shoulder.

His fears were eased when Rory opened the door, dressed for the elements, already shutting the door behind her. "Hey."

He smiled. "Hi."

"Can I say something, before we go?"

He nodded and watched as she sat on the bench on which he'd attempted to nap when he thought his knocking was going unheard, the memories of which were coming back in foggy patches. "Sure."

"We don't have to do this, if you don't want to. You don't owe me any explanations. I've thought about it, and it had nothing to do with me. I'm just an extraneous, correlating factor. Any issue I might have had with finding a person passed out on my couch is really with Doyle, who doesn't actually live here and shouldn't be opening our door to outsiders."

He sighed and motioned to the bench. "May I?"

She nodded, so he sat. He looked at her before he spoke. Her cheeks were already pinking up from the cold. It was the kind of weather that prompted him to start making travel arrangements for warmer climates. She probably had the patience to bundle up until spring, but he'd never been much good at waiting. "I did a dumb thing last night."

She didn't argue with him, a point that wasn't lost on him. "When you went in, I couldn't shake this feeling I had. I didn't want to go home, but I knew you didn't want me to come in, so I went to blow off some steam, and things got out of control. Finding my way back to your place was some sort of inner navigational instinct that took me back to where I'd wandered from, I didn't mean to impose on your life."

She listened to his explanation and seemed satisfied. "Okay."

He ducked his chin. "Really?"

She gave him a tight smile. "Yeah. So, I guess I'll see you next week?"

He shook his head, suddenly panicked at the thought of her just going inside. He wasn't sure why he was having such an adverse reaction to her simply leaving him, but if it continued like this, it would get to be a big problem. The kind that interfered with work and all other aspects of his life and required a twelve-step program to fix.

"I made reservations."

She stiffened, which did nothing to ease his panic. "Look, I appreciate the gesture, but we're good, really."

"Do you have something you'd rather be doing? It's a great place, and it's not far. We can bill it to work, which means my dad pays. It's really a win-win. And I promise to keep my drinking in check. You can feel free to have as many as you like," he added for good measure.

She sighed. "I don't know, Logan."

The sound of his name coming off her lips surprised him. She'd generally avoided calling him other than 'boss' since he asked her not to call him Mr. Huntzberger. "It's a meal. You have to eat, right?"

She stood up and looked at him with what he assumed was defeat. It certainly wasn't anticipation. "Let's go, then."

He stood up, high off the sheer elation of getting her to agree to the outing, for the second time. Other than waking up in a shameful manner, he'd had a successful meeting with advertisers that encouraged him to email his father, in lieu of actually speaking to him, to give him a brief rundown of his progress. It wouldn't satisfy the old man, but it would put him off for another day at any rate.

She wasn't full of conversation on the way to dinner, and he didn't push for more than she'd already agreed to. He remained in high spirits and waited for her to come around. It wasn't until they were nearly at their destination that he cracked under the pressure of remaining quiet. "It's not so bad is it?"

She emitted a noise much like a suppressed groan and turned to him. "Can I be completely honest with you?"

His features were wiped clear by her brevity. "Yes, of course."

"This job at the paper, it's my first real-world experience in my chosen profession. All I wanted was to do a good job and maybe get a little recognition above and beyond the grunt work I happily signed up for."

He nodded as he got the feeling she wasn't finished, nor did she want to hear any pandering to her abilities.

"And it's been amazing, even though I know the situation isn't typical. I love being there and I love getting the opportunity to dive in and work alongside everyone else."

"Not everyone would have been able to do that, jump in the way you have," he pointed out sincerely.

She offered a tight, if genuine, smile. "I just didn't expect you, I guess."

"That sounds bad," he said, encouraging her to elaborate.

Her head shook no, but her eyes said differently. "Bosses should stay in their offices and offer directives, they shouldn't be asleep in a drunken stupor on my couch. I'm a college student—nothing about my surroundings should be coveted by someone in your position. I don't know what all you're going through, but trust me, my life isn't anything you should wish for, even for a night. College life might be glamorous for a certain level of nostalgia, but it's a never-ending series of too much information and weird living conditions, and being forced to see your editor wearing a pink silk robe with a fuzzy collar, and boys who don't understand that men and women can be just friends," she listed.

"I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to intrude on your life," he apologized.

"Then, I guess, why me?"

He smiled wistfully. "I guess you just reminded me of something I lost. We had a little in common and you're sort of everything I should have been—involved at the paper, hungry for the industry, you seem to make it to all your classes and aren't distracted by everything else that stands to get in your way."

"I don't have any answers."

"I'm not looking for answers. I enjoy spending time with you."

She stiffened again. "But I'm not … looking for someone to spend time with."

"Because I'm your boss, we can't be friends?" he asked with regret.

"You want to be my friend?" she asked in disbelief, not because she wasn't a great friend, but because she could see through him in a way that almost no one else ever did.

"Can anyone ever have enough friends?" he asked, completely dodging her inquiry.

"Listen, Harry told me about your penchant for interns. I get it. I'm not completely naïve, but I don't want this. I don't want to be that girl. I want to be taken seriously."

"I do take you seriously," he argued. "And I have no idea what Harry was talking about, I've never had a workplace romance because I've never really fully engaged in a work place before this," he explained as it hit him. "Oh, he was talking about my dad."

She frowned. "Your dad?"

He nodded sharply. "He likes interns. Young ones."

Rory looked horrified. "But he's… the top guy in the industry."

"That just means he's good at his job. It doesn't make him a nice guy or a family man."

"Isn't it the family business?" Rory asked, still wounded by the tarnish on her idol.

"He works long hours, he's incredibly driven, and he takes what he wants without apologies. That kind personality doesn't turn off, for any reason."

"So, if he had taken over the _Gazette_, instead of throwing you overboard to drown, chances are he'd be hitting on me like a creepy old man?" she asked in disgust.

"First of all, thank you for your support. Second of all, as much as I'd like to think that the Huntzberger charm allows for the negation of the whole creepy old man vibe, chances are slim that he would have put the charm to work on you."

Rory turned in surprise. "Why not?"

He chuckled at the fact that she grew so instantly indignant at the perceived slight. "He prefers blondes. Still want that meeting?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "The real world is often a very disappointing arena."

He nodded curtly. "I concur."

"You do?" she asked, her chin tilted in the most adorable manner toward him.

"Why do you think I'm so attracted to the college scene still? And please refrain from creepy old man comparisons."

She smiled, a feat which felt like a true accomplishment. "You're not creepy."

He was encouraged. "It's okay, you can admit it. I'm rather charming, in a boyish sort of way."

"See, what kind of boss says stuff like that?"

"Hey, I'm open about my flaws, as well."

They'd arrived at their destination, but neither made a move to exit the car. He'd do the gentlemanly thing, even without her permission, and go around to open the door for her, but the way she was just sitting there waiting made him pause as well. "You want like a detailed list?" he asked at last.

"No, I just can't figure out why you're bothering to spend time with me, when you surely have a whole list of more important people to woo."

"I assure you my priorities are in place."

"You can't sleep on my couch again."

He smiled at her assertion. "It wasn't very comfortable anyhow."

"And no more dropping by under false pretenses."

He wanted to argue that point, but he held his tongue in check. "I will come up with more believable excuses."

"Be serious!"

"You've got to give me something. I'm a spontaneous guy. But if you really want me to leave you alone, I'll respect your wishes."

She was quiet again, an action that unnerved him to no end. He knew her mind was always working, and he couldn't argue with her if she didn't vocalize her concerns. It would take far more exposure to her for him to accomplish that feat. "This is just work related, right? You have absolutely no interest in me outside of the paper?"

"Please don't say let's just be friends," he beseeched her. "It's an over-used cliché."

She shook her head. "No friends. Just coworkers."

"You really are mad at me," he decided, with a sigh of defeat.

She held up her hand. "I'm not mad. I just like things to be contained and clear cut."

"Yeah, well, that real life you found so disappointing? It's messy and it often involves crossing safe boundaries, and nothing turns out like you thought it would. Idols are jerks and bosses have no experience, and I like spending time with you."

"What are you, the reality police? Is this just a way to back out of setting up a meeting between me and your father? I've heard the rumors about how you're ignoring his calls, so I get that this probably has nothing to do with me and it's more about you just hiding from your responsibilities," she remarked, not bothering to cover her disdain.

"It's that hard to believe I like you?" he asked, full of indignation.

"Cut to the chase, Logan."

He groaned. "Look, I am ignoring my father's calls, but that is not new behavior. It's a skill I've spent my whole life honing. It has nothing to do with work, which is actually going well, by the way, and more to do with the fact that I hate that guy. I don't want you to meet with him, but not because you have no interest in me but because he's an ass who will do nothing but disappoint you."

She was silent after his fitting tirade. After all, she'd started it. It felt like an hour before she spoke. "I can't date you."

He held up a hand. "Whoa. I never said I wanted to date you. I said I like you. I would be open to spending more time together, but we can't date."

"There is something wrong with you," she accused.

"I thought you weren't even interested in dating anyone right now. You said yourself that something casual was all you could handle," he reminded her.

"Yes, exactly, I can handle dating some random guy from school casually. Someone I won't really care about, not in a life-altering way. But I can't do that with you."

"We seem to be at an impasse."

She rolled her eyes. "Actually, we're agreeing."

"I think at best we're agreeing to disagree," he offered.

It was at that point that she exited the car and set off on foot without him. He took a minute to watch her go before he went off after her.

-X-

She had the urge to strangle him, so she took cooling off to a literal level. She'd only gotten about a block away when he caught up with her. She did the polite thing and slowed to a stop.

"Are we fighting about the fact that we like each other?" he asked as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets to keep warm. She turned over her shoulder to see him standing in the freezing cold in order come to a better resolution.

"I don't care if you think I'm naïve, but I like to keep things separate. It works for me."

"And I'm breaking your rules," he said as he bobbed up and down to try to keep warmer.

"Yes."

"And that makes you uncomfortable," he continued.

She noticed that he'd gotten closer to her, under the guise of moving to keep warm. He was suddenly in her personal space, and she backed up a little to maintain a safer distance. "Yes."

"You want me to just be your boss and put aside everything else?" he continued, still moving closer.

"I think that's best," she said, not bothering to back up again. He was in pursuit and she didn't have far to go. Her resolve was strong, but she had a feeling that he had the ability to wear her down until she gave his way a try. She didn't even know what that would involve, but she was pretty sure it would be confusing and intense and put her internship in jeopardy. She wasn't sure she could handle that on top of all the huge priorities she was currently juggling. The fact that she sucked at interpersonal relationships backed up her resolve, even if his more casual approach did hold a certain appeal due to her lacking in that department.

He was close enough to kiss her, and she watched as his eyes darted to her lips. She watched curiously, with baited breath, wondering if he would throw caution to the wind and choose a different method of warming himself in the elements.

"Then we'll go have dinner and toast our business relationship. I sent my father's secretary a message to save an hour on his schedule this Friday, and that is set aside for you."

Her concern at his sudden acquiescence to her demands raised her suspicions, as she found the display wholly unbelievable. "Just like that?"

He nodded. "Just like that. You're a valuable asset, especially given the financial state of the paper, and I would hate to lose your talent because of my poor behavior."

She was floored at his words. "Okay, then."

"Just so I'm clear, we're agreeing to disagree, right?"

She cocked her head, wishing he'd be serious so they could at least get warm. "I think it's best."

"Then I will trust your judgment, as I've shown mine isn't always on point where you're concerned. Should we go get warm now?" he offered, extending his elbow for her to wind her arm through.

She did so, welcoming the warmth that she felt from him even despite his professed cold. It was a pleasant sensation, cozying up against him to block the wind as they quickly made for the door. It wasn't enough to change her mind or risk her putting her professional career in a gray area for what might be a fleeting moment of fun or excitement at his hand. But she was keenly aware that whatever it was left room to revisit the topic at a later date.


	5. Of Course Everyone Goes Crazy

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Of Course Everyone Goes Crazy

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

She'd never felt more foolish. It all made perfect sense, in hindsight, that her actions would have had such a consequence. Even though she knew it to be the right decision to head off any interest in her boss outside of work, she'd let herself believe that in the light of day he'd see things her way. Keeping things professional wasn't his forte, however, which she'd sensed on a base level, even though he'd been nothing but during the week after their shared dinner where they'd agreed upon new terms.

At the office he'd been engaged in her ideas, seemingly grateful for her help where she was able to give it, and did not contact her in any way in her off hours. She'd turned her attention midweek to the meeting he'd arranged for her with his father, and her anticipation mixed with excitement until the last possible moment. She'd spent excessive time planning her outfit—pulling from the most conservative pieces she owned that were appropriate for meeting one of the leaders in her industry. She had fallen so easily into unclear territory with her boss, and due to all the rumors shared so abundantly about this man's passing fancy for younger women, she made sure that not even a casual amount of skin might be offered into view.

So much had tainted her expectations of what this man would be like to sit down and talk with—her mind overflowed with all kinds of nerve-wracking scenarios that ranged from repugnant to awe-inspiring. She wanted to believe that Logan had exaggerated his father's flaws-a tendency she understood to the point of empathy-and held to the belief that the opportunity to shake such an industry giant's hand and possibly make a favorable impression on him might be the best kind of omen for her future.

In the end, however, all her planning had been for naught. It hadn't mattered what she'd worn or how punctual she'd been even in the face of New York traffic and unfamiliar routes. It hadn't mattered how many hours of preparation she'd put in, going over questions she wished to ask or topics she thought would be relevant to discuss. It had all been a waste because it seemed she'd dented the pride of the one man she'd believed when he told her he would set up the whole meeting. It had taken all her manners and dignity to smile politely at the receptionist as she was informed that her name was not on Mitchum Huntzberger's appointment book at two o'clock or otherwise, as he was out of the office for the remainder of the day.

She'd gone straight home in a silent fury, the drive out of New York melding to a blur in her angry state. She ignored her roommate as she slammed the front door and offered the same treatment to her bedroom door, like an angry teen, seconds later. She tossed her high heels hatefully into her closet one at a time; not caring that they ended upside down and askew on top of the neat rows of matched pairs that otherwise lined the bottom of her small closet. Her clothes were removed in much the same manner, and she stood there, in the middle of her room in her underwear, shaking with rage needed to direct at the proper source and willing herself to calm to the point that she could figure out the best way to tell Logan Huntzberger just what he could do with his pride.

She was interrupted by a light knock to her door. With a disgruntled sigh, she grabbed a t-shirt and Yale sweatpants, sliding them on before cracking her door open. "What, Paris?"

Paris eyed her with an awed satisfaction. "Bad day?"

"I don't really want to talk about it yet," Rory said, still trying to calm her frustration that seemed to be welling up fresh every five seconds or so.

Paris nodded. "Understandable. But as someone who experiences this kind of rage on a fairly regular basis, can I offer some advice?"

Rory considered the offer. "Sure. Why not?"

Paris rubbed her hands together. "Let it out. As soon as possible. There's the screaming at people who are easy targets but don't really deserve it route, but it's not nearly as satisfying and I've heard that it can cause guilt, but I've never really noticed that side effect. You might, though, because you're so painfully nice most of the time."

Rory put a hand to her stomach. "I'm not that nice."

"You're like a living example of a Disney Princess before she meets her prince," Paris scoffed. "You know what Snow White should have done with that poisoned apple?"

Rory frowned. "I'm guessing your version wouldn't have been G-rated."

"You said it, sister. I mean, the queen got hers in the end, but no woman should have to be leered at by seven short dudes, waiting for a prince to kiss her. Talk about some man's psychotic fantasy."

"What's the other option, Paris, or should I be expecting a dissection of _The Little Mermaid _first?"

Paris held up her hand. "Do not get me started on _The Little Mermaid_."

"Focus, Paris."

"Right. Nine times out of ten, this kind of anger stems from another person's actions, and not some situational injustice that is out of our control."

Rory nodded. "It's safe to say my frustration is with one person in particular."

Paris grinned in a way that made Rory more than a little sorry she'd agreed to any advice at all. "Then the best way to get rid of the feeling you have now is to pour all of it out at the person responsible."

Rory grimaced. "I'd like to, but it's really not the wisest idea."

Paris groaned. "Look, Gilmore, I've never seen you this riled up. You're so happy sometimes that I've searched likely hiding spots for mood-stabilizers or stimulants, and I was actually a little disappointed to find that really is your natural disposition. If someone pissed you off that much, they deserve to get a verbal lashing. It's like being mean to Bambi."

Rory stared at Paris with concern. "What is it with you and Disney movies today?"

Paris rolled her eyes. "Doyle. He says my inner child is mean because I wasn't brought up on the classic cannon of Walt Disney. I'd actually never seen any of those movies, except for _The Jungle Book_, which Nanny had in her purse once. So we've been watching these movies at his insistence, and the single-minded misogynistic crap that they play off as every little girl's dream come true is astounding."

Rory smiled sadly at her friend. "Paris, they're fairy tales, they're not supposed to be guides for life. Didn't you ever play dress-up when you were little and pretend you were a fairy or a princess in a far-away land?"

Paris recoiled. "No. I did dress up in a white coat and envisioned myself as a scientist who discovered the chemical compound that could cure cancer cells in a laboratory setting."

"Of course you did."

"Look, feel free to slam doors and swear like a sailor. But you won't feel better until you properly direct your anger. Who are you mad at, anyway?"

"Logan," Rory spit out the name, to which Paris immediately nodded in earnest.

"Huntzberger. I should have guessed. What did the guy do this time?"

Rory shook her head and looked away. "It doesn't really matter."

"Didn't you have that meeting with his dad today?"

Rory tensed up. "I was supposed to."

Paris caught on. "And Logan messed it up?"

Rory tossed her hands up in the air haplessly. "I don't even know what he did exactly. And knowing him, I might never know what really happened. He's such a thoughtless, arrogant jerk! GAH!" she burst out again.

Paris nodded in enthusiasm. "That's right, keep it going. Do you want me to drive you to the office so you can keep up the momentum without the risk of a moving traffic violation?"

Rory had to admit it was tempting, but her desire to clamp down her emotions and be all about the job won out. Technically he was keeping his end of the bargain by not pursuing her outside the walls of the _Gazette_. "No. No, this will … pass. Eventually. Or it'll stew until I can get him back the way he deserves to be repaid. Like the ego-maniacal jerk that he is."

Paris patted her friend on the shoulder. "I must say, I enjoy this side of you."

-X-

Things had been going a little too well for him, giving him the illusion of flying just under the radar that he knew to be in effect in his life. He felt the shift in the tide as it ebbed in over the course of the day. It seemed easy enough to write off as sexual frustration at first; after all it wasn't often that any girl he found intriguing didn't reciprocate in a favorable fashion. It wasn't that he was offended by hearing the word no, but it was an uncommon enough occurrence that it threw him a little. He wondered at first if she was simply playing hard to get, trying to get him even more interested by putting him off a little. But she'd been true to her word and hadn't employed tricks that he'd seen time and again where clothes became a little more revealing or excuses were found to spend more time together. But damn if he didn't find himself peeking for even a glimpse of her wrists emerging from the long sleeves she was employing and feeling his heart rate jump as her pants rose to expose even a hint of her slender legs when she crossed her legs. Luckily for his personal productivity at work, she was only there a couple of afternoons a week.

He wasn't near the breaking point until he came back from lunch on Friday. He'd taken Harry and a few of the department editors out to foster some goodwill and share the promising news of the advertisers that had recently agreed to sign on with their publication, before the partnerships had been formally announced. He was in good spirits until he saw the look of outright anxiety of his secretary's face as he approached her desk.

She stood up too quickly to head him off. "You have a visitor."

He thought for a moment, a fleeting wish really despite her disposition, that Rory had come to pay him a visit off the clock. She might have concocted a guise of offering to help in her downtime or having a question about the nature of the news business—even though she knew more about certain aspects than he did and they were both keenly aware of that fact. It hit him at once that she was supposed to be meeting with his father in a little while—realization washed over him just as his secretary said the words he dreaded most.

"It's your father."

He knew in that instant he was doubly screwed, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He stepped into his own office, to see his father seated in his chair, looking like the boss should. He was foreboding and ready to set things right. Logan shut the door, hoping to cut a little of the sound he knew would be vibrating the walls. "Dad."

"So, you do remember me?" Mitchum asked flippantly. "Good. Now I'd like you to tell me just what in the hell you've been doing."

Logan let out a sigh and sank into the chair opposite his father. "I'm trying to run the paper."

Mitchum shook his head, dismissing Logan's words. "I told you exactly what I wanted. I laid it out in terms so simple a child could have handled it."

"I'm not a child," Logan countered.

"Then stop acting like one!" Mitchum bellowed.

"I have advertisers eager to come on board with the proposed changes we're going to be able to implement with even just a little revenue out front," Logan said, cutting to the heart of what mattered to his father—profitability.

"Yes, I heard all about your presentation. Jesus, Logan, you had to tie one on the night before and show up looking like the walking dead? Zombies and vampires might be popular television fare these days, but this is the real world."

Logan kept a stony expression. "I got the deal."

"A man's reputation is all he has. If word gets around about your late nights and party ways, any support you might have gained with your ideas will flee and you'll never get another shot. People don't like risk."

"You're one to talk," Logan tossed back at him.

Mitchum banged his fist on the desk. "I have been in this business a long time. I take calculated risks based on a lot of factors you don't understand yet. You haven't earned the right to come in here and take these kinds of risks on a whim."

"They aren't on a whim. And dumping something that's salvageable is wasteful. We should be helping them move into the new economy, not dismantling them for holding out with what they know because they didn't have the resources to try before."

Mitchum stood up, shaking his head. "I won't stop what you've done, but I'm not going to let you have any more funds to do it, either. You continue until as long as you have the influx from parties you've seduced to help you, but when they rescind their support, it's over. You'll have to do things my way, with no bargaining. Got me?"

Logan met his father's eyes in a cold, hard agreement. "I'd expect nothing else."

Mitchum seemed to brighten. "Good. Your mother wants to know when you're coming for dinner."

Logan looked away. "I'll call her."

"She's your mother. You can't punish her because you're upset with me at work."

"I'm not punishing anyone. I'm just busy, thanks to your assignment."

"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow evening, for the party."

"Is that why you came, to make sure I was honoring all the commitments you assigned to me?"

Mitchum shook his head. "I saw that you'd blocked out time in my schedule, and I wanted to make sure you kept the appointment. And, while I'm here, I want a look at the changes you've made in person. Shall we?"

Logan stood with a heavy sigh and turned to follow his father as he breezed out of the office to scare the staff with his looming presence for as long as it took to convince him it wasn't a total disaster … yet.

-X-

Rory was curled up in bed, reading. She'd not left the confines of her room much since her return that afternoon. Paris had offered to order food in and keep her company, but she opted for the comfort a good book always offered. She hadn't made much headway, truth be told, and she often found herself staring up at her ceiling instead of taking in the lines of text.

There was a knock to her door just before she was about to give up the effort and turn off her bedside light. She sat up and sighed. "What?"

Paris peeked in. "Sorry to bother you. You have a visitor, and while I'd be happy to shove him back out in the cold with an unceremonious shove, I thought you might like an opportunity to do the shoving yourself."

Rory frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Paris paused. "Logan's here."

Rory straightened instantly. "What? Now?"

Paris shrugged. "So, are you telling him to leave, or should I?"

Rory tossed off her covers and marched to the door, causing Paris to jump out of her way. "I'll handle this."

"Don't forget—harness your rage, and don't leave any of it inside. He deserves it. He does not have the right to waste your time."

Rory turned and pointed to Paris' bedroom. "I got it. Can I get a little privacy please?"

Paris made no attempt to cover her disappointment. "Fine."

Rory waited until Paris was behind a closed door before she went to the front door and took a deep, steadying breath. Satisfied at her relative calm, she opened the door with a cold demeanor and crossed her arms over her chest while she waited for him to open with whatever lame excuse he might have to offer.

He appeared rather sheepish and somewhat apologetic before he even bothered making excuses. She wasn't going to cave at puppy dog eyes and some small expression of regret. "Hi."

Rory held fast in her standoffish posture. "Hi. If you're looking for a place to sleep, we're full up here."

He winced at her words. "Can we talk?"

She held up one finger. "I asked you to do one thing. I didn't ask you for the meeting with your father, I didn't ask you for fruit, and I never asked for more responsibility at the paper. What did I ask for?"

He glanced down at the ground between them. "Not to show up here."

She spread her hands out to make a point. "Do I really need to say anything else?"

He sighed in earnest. "I'm sorry."

She shook her head and started to shut the door. "Next time just send a fruit basket."

He put his hand on the door to block it. "Can I come in, please?"

She yanked the door open again and advanced a couple of steps. "What could you want to explain? I get it, okay? I'm more than capable of connecting the dots. No explanations needed, really."

"I don't know what you think you understand, but what happened this afternoon was beyond my control. I had the time blocked out, but because his secretary put the time down in my name he thought I'd blow him off if he didn't hunt me down. He showed up in my office and reamed me out."

"Shocking," she said, her face completely devoid of any emotion.

"Rory. Please."

"What do you want? Do you want me to forgive you? To tell you that I'm not mad that I wasted my whole afternoon driving to New York to be blown off by an overworked secretary and had to tell everyone who's called me to see how it went that I got stood up?"

"I am sorry. So unbelievably sorry. I'm sorry that I'm a crappy son and I have a crappy father and our relationship is so unbelievably messed up that it inconvenienced you and messed up your day and gave you one more reason to find me untrustworthy."

She felt a pang of sympathy, which she attempted to ignore. "He really reamed you out?"

He nodded in a still-cagey manner thanks to her understandable anger. It took a little wind out of her sails, having him be so accepting of her irritation. She hadn't expected him to be so blatantly apologetic. "He did. It was a doozy, too, if that makes you feel any better."

She hitched a shoulder up. "Why would that make me feel any better?"

He shook his head slowly. "It might have. You're entitled to be mad."

"I am," she reiterated, her passion almost renewing.

"So, my instinct would be to try to make it up to you, but you probably have no interest in that plan."

"Are you kidding me?" she asked, turning on her heel and retreating into her suite, leaving the door open and him in limbo at her doorway.

It only took him a half a second to throw caution to the wind and opt for warmth and her ire rather than defeat and remaining in the cold. He shut the door and took his coat off, laying it over the top of the couch as he approached her at a safe distance. "I have a specific offer in mind."

She turned and glared at him. "Of course you do."

"I have to attend a party; it's a release party for Susan Orlean's essays that are being published. It'll be full of _New Yorker_ contributors and all the big publishing players. My dad ordered me to show up, and it's the kind of thing where dates are mandatory to pretend it's a social event instead of a hazard of the industry."

"You're complaining about this to me?" she asked in complete disbelief. "That sounds like an amazing evening, a literal dream come true for me, and you're rubbing my nose in the fact that you have to endure such an atrocity, after the day you put me through?" she exclaimed.

"I thought you might like to come with me," he responded calmly, despite her having just screamed at him.

She was stunned. She blinked several times, trying to process what he'd just said. "You did not."

He nodded. "Well, okay, I didn't actually think you'd want to go anywhere with me, but to the actual event, yes, I thought you would enjoy that."

She paused in thought. "Wait. Is this the thing you said you weren't asking me to a couple of weeks ago?"

"It won't be a date. It'll just be me introducing you to a world that you belong in."

"A world you tolerate."

"It's not all so bad. The food's usually good, and a few of them aren't completely pretentious. And who knows, being there with you might make it wholly enjoyable for once."

She held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "Don't flatter me. I don't know why you have this need to make things up to me, but as amazing as that party sounds, I can't go with you."

He frowned. "But you want to go?"

She faltered. "Yes, but," she began contrarily.

"But you hate me so much that you won't do something you'd enjoy because I'd be there?" he asked, outlining his disappointment.

"I didn't say that-I don't hate you. I just don't want to encourage your behavior, and I certainly don't want you to think that I'm agreeing to be your date, even in the most casual sense of the word."

"Because I'm your boss."

She met his eyes. "Yes."

He sighed and sat down. "You can't just forget that for a few hours? Would you like me to fire you when I pick you up and rehire you when I drop you off?"

She smiled at his insane logic and reasoning. "I can't just pretend something for your benefit."

He shook his head adamantly. "Not for my benefit. I mean, yes, I would enjoy having a beautiful, smart woman on my arm. My father might actually approve of my choice of escort for the evening for once. But this is about you. If you want me to correct people all night and let them know that you and I are just colleagues and that you're too good for me, then I'll preface every single introduction I make."

"What is it with you and grand gestures?" she wondered aloud.

"I want to make this right. Tell me what to do, if this isn't it."

"You don't have to do anything!" she cried out.

He waited out her reaction calmly, watching her with an even expression. "I know I don't have to."

"Then why? Why bother making any promises, regardless of your ability to keep them?"

"Please let me fix this," he asked yet again.

She took in the sight of him, a man that didn't have to apologize for his bad behavior. She wondered just how often he'd made any attempt to right wrongs he'd inflicted as he went on his merry way. Did it matter if he was reacting to his own problems with his father or if he wanted to make her happy for selfish reasons or not? On a base level, he was right—she shouldn't let his agenda stand in her way of such opportunities. If he was looking to gain anything from the deal, he would be disappointed and rightfully so. She would offer no kisses of gratitude or so much as a handshake at the end of the evening in thanks for his having acted as a glorified chauffer to the event. It would allow her to shop for a dress she'd have no excuse to wear and to rub elbows with both idols and up-and-coming names that she'd otherwise only read about. She should be taking him out of the equation altogether. If he felt he owed her, she should just take what she could, like salvage from a wreck. She certainly didn't owe him anything.

"What time will you pick me up?" she asked finally.

His eyes widened, but he didn't question her. "About five. The party's in New York."

She nodded and stood up. "Okay."

He stood up as well. "Great."

She stood there, watching him uncomfortably in lieu of making awkward conversation. "Just so you and I are clear, this is just about absolving your conscious. This is not a date. We're just helping the other out."

"Absolutely. There are no expectations or strings here. It is what it is, no hidden agenda. You have my word."

"Says the man who said he wouldn't come back here," she chided him.

"Look, I'd understand if this place was your refuge, but clearly Doyle is already barging in and invading your space. Is my presence really that big a nuisance for you?" he asked, catching her off guard.

She was flustered for a moment, but grappled to regain her composure. "You're my boss."

"And that makes me a social pariah."

"No, it just complicates things."

He paused and leaned in. "Complicates what things specifically?"

She blew out a heavy sigh. "You said you thought we had stuff in common and that you liked spending time with me."

He nodded. "So?"

"That doesn't seem like a conflict of interest to you?" she asked.

"Do you like spending time with me?" he asked, turning it back on her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I guess so."

"And can you think of anything we have in common, even the slightest shared interest?"

She sighed petulantly. "There are some commonalities, I suppose."

"So can't you see where our spending time together would make sense, outside the workplace or not? I mean, what if we just met somewhere, on campus or at a bar?"

She held up a finger. "But we didn't," she argued.

"For the sake of argument," he cut in.

"Fine. If we just met, somewhere other than work, who's to say you'd have even noticed me? There are a thousand people in a student's daily surroundings, and if we were at a bar, we'd be with our separate crowds of friends."

"Maybe a mutual acquaintance would have introduced us. You do have to admit we have one mutual person in our lives."

Rory felt bested, but she wasn't sure why it bothered her so much. "Fine, maybe Doyle might have introduced us in some other reality. So what?"

"So, I'm just saying, if we'd been somewhere else, I would have noticed you. In a sea of a thousand people or had someone I barely know given me a cursory introduction, I would have noticed you."

She held her hands primly in her lap. "Then maybe we would have been friends."

"But too much has happened already," he offered, finishing her thought.

"It's not that I think you're a bad guy. I think you have a lot going on and maybe you have some stuff to figure out," she led hesitantly.

"Is all this about the fact you think I want to sleep with you or that you just don't want to mix business with pleasure?"

She cringed at his blunt question. "I'm an intern. I don't want to be seen as some dumb, young chippie, who would rather do the boss than pay her dues with hard work," she said with distaste.

"You do work hard. No one views you like that," he assured her.

She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment as she considered her next move. "I guess we could try to be friends."

His face brightened. "You mean that?"

She relented and smiled in return. "Sure. But work comes first."

He nodded in agreement. "As your boss, I'll insist on that."

"Okay, then. We'll try it your way."

-X-

It wasn't the kind of arrangement he'd ever had to make in his life. No woman had ever provoked him to negotiate his way into her life. The longer he thought about it after leaving Rory's dorm room, the more confused he was about his own behavior. He could understand, he supposed, why she wouldn't want to fall victim to being a notch in his bedpost and therefore becoming a fleeting and inconsequential memory that was regarded as unqualified for any job in the news industry. She was determined and single-minded to a point, but surely her behavior was a learned quality that had worked for her in the past. What he didn't understand was why he got a vibe from her that she might be interested in him as even more than friends, were it not for how they met.

It was a moot point, he resolved, as she'd gotten him to agree to a platonic grey area of friendship, wherein they could talk and commiserate, but offer no true distraction or physical release from the rest of their lives. If that was the case, with her inevitably being a regular presence in his week, he'd have to work twice as hard to find other avenues to fulfill those needs. He was a man of his word, for the most part, and he would escort her to the party he was dreading without so much as opening a door for her. Maybe he'd get lucky enough to find some assistant or other young, attractive woman that would jump at the chance to make plans for later that night with him. It would serve his point, to give her a taste of just what she was missing, after all. If he couldn't get through to her with words, he'd just try action.

It wouldn't be hard at all, he reasoned. Not counting Rory Gilmore, women sought him out. All he had to do was show up to the party. Not one to miss the opportunity to make her a little sorry about her rounds of protesting having to be in his presence outside of work, he did take care in selecting his outfit and making himself as presentable as possible. By the time he got to her door to pick her up for the drive to New York, he was feeling pretty good about himself. He'd not thought about what she might have deemed appropriate attire for such an event, but he should have prepared himself a little better. He stood in shock for a little too long when she opened the door and presented herself in the frame of the door.

"How do I look?" she asked, a question that nearly all women ask of men, hoping for a positive reaction. He would garner that there were some men that stuck to canned answers of 'fine' or 'great,' but neither of those words really fit. Her dress was black and cut in places that drew his attention and made his mouth go remarkably dry. Her shoes were borderline scandalous, making her legs longer than he thought possible and accentuating the curve of her calves. Her hair was shiny in the way that's often portrayed in shampoo commercials, but never seems to be replicated in the real world. Her eyes were dark, and her lips were glossy, and all he wanted to do was explore every single last part of her to see how she accomplished the effect.

"Stunning," he replied in all honesty.

She gave him a coy smile. "You clean up nice, too."

He glanced down at his shirt and jacket, both of which were similar to the other garments of like kinds in his closet. Nothing he could have worn would have had the effect that her choices had on him. His shoes were comfortable and in style, but he doubted that over the course of the evening she'd even notice them.

"Ready to go?" he asked, doing another visual scan to find she was definitely as beautiful on second glance.

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her clutch off the table by the door and dumping her keys into it. "So, you're sure we're on the list? Your dad hasn't suddenly disowned you or anything?"

He turned to her as they walked side-by-side down the corridor. She was still slipping into her warmer coat, a long black garment that was fitted to her form. He was destined to be distracted by her, no matter how many layers she donned that night. "You don't trust me at all, do you? What happened to us trying to be friends?" he asked.

"That was an excellent evasion," she said, challenging him a little.

He smiled at the way she caught him out. "How about this? If he has blackballed me, I will make it up to you by treating you to a real night out in New York."

"A night out in New York. I can only imagine the implications of that. Would I have to be your wingman or something?" she inquired.

"It's what friends do," he agreed as they reached his car. He ignored his instinct to open her door and headed straight for his own. He noticed that she paused a moment before opening her own door and joining him inside.

She was quiet until he got out onto the road. He turned on the radio for background noise, in case she was capable of long silences. She turned to him after a minute. "So, have things always been this way between you and your dad?"

"You mean a never-ending source of tension and drama?" he asked, in an upbeat and slightly effacing manner. "Pretty much, as long as I can remember, yeah."

"That must be rough," she continued, her voice empathetic in a way that made him want to tell her anything. Things he would never share with anyone. He might have hoped that his defenses were a little higher than that.

"I mean, what are you going to do? He's my dad, and I'm not what he wanted. He wanted a media mogul clone, and he got a kid with opinions that would rather rock-climb than sit in a board meeting."

"Big rock climber, are you?" she asked, her eyes playful.

"I've put in a few hours. It comes in handy when you want to get to the top of a remote cliff to dive off of. There are times we can't get a helicopter to land."

Her eyes widened. "You're serious?"

He smirked. "I will admit, the best part of having money is the ability to have real adventures. My friends and I just pack up and go on a moment's notice. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"So showing up to work in a suit and a tie is killing you slowly?" she guessed.

"Something like that. But daddy says. See, he did his fair share of playing when he was young, which is why he tried to curtail it with me early on. He thought it'd be easier for me to stop if I never started. When that failed, he started with the legal threats. My trust fund was suddenly tied to my getting on board with the business after I graduated from Yale, barring my desire to get a masters or my MBA."

"Why didn't you?"

He shook his head and stared out the windshield at the road ahead of them. "It was time."

She nodded slowly. "It sounds like he was really involved in your life."

"Involved is one way to look at it. Strangling is another," he offered.

"Still. I never knew when I'd see my dad. If he ever had an opinion on what he'd like me to be when I grew up, I certainly never heard about it."

He felt the slow punch she'd thrown. He visibly cringed. "Child of divorce?"

She shook her head as she stared out the front windshield. "Nope. He didn't stick around that long. Mom raised me alone, and he took off to find himself in California. He came back infrequently, and for good eventually."

"Do you see him these days?"

She was quiet long enough that he thought he'd overstepped some boundary, even though she'd brought it up in the first place. He did his best to focus on traffic and appear uninterested.

"He comes around sometimes, trying to act like he can make up for lost time. He proposes to my mom after months of not seeing her, or he'll get her hopes up that he's ready to do things the right way only to drop some bomb like his ex-girlfriend is pregnant, or he'll wait until she's happy, and I mean really happy, with someone else and then try to undermine her relationship."

It was a sore spot, which was clear from her acrid tone and her extreme vulnerability. He shook his head. "Fathers, huh?"

She nodded numbly. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm sorry to say that mine will definitely be there tonight, but chances are he'll be drunk, and that means there's a fifty-percent chance he'll actually be fun."

She arched her brow at him. "He can be fun?"

He smiled as he tightened his grip on the wheel. "I learned my party ways from the master. Would you like to hear about the effect one too many martinis had on my father at my high school graduation?"

She smiled at his sudden demeanor change. "Do tell."


	6. The Sound of Life's Sweet Bliss

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: The Sound of Life's Sweet Bliss

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

AN: I realize how long it's been. What's worse it how long I've been sitting on this chapter. Lots of life happened and some of it was sad and depressing, and I just didn't get from finished writing to editing until now. I'm sorry. But there is a lot of mature content, so either enjoy or if you are not so inclined (or too young) don't.

It was as if she were walking around in one of her own dreams, except it there was better food and so far she hadn't done one thing to embarrass herself in the slightest. They'd been at the swanky event for over an hour, and each person she'd spoken with had left her inspired, amused, or more than a little awestruck. It occurred to her as she went in search of a refill on her drink that she hadn't seen Logan in at least twenty minutes. She'd felt dependent on his proximity upon their arrival to navigate her through the crowd of well-known names and faces, ranging from popular columnists to actual Nobel Laureates. It wasn't that she didn't know their names, faces, or work—rather she felt she ought to have to pay admission for the honor of walking among them and he was her golden ticket. His initial introductions had made her feel more in place, setting her up for easier conversations until she'd found her stride and not even noticed that he'd slipped away the moment she hadn't required his assistance any longer.

She found him at the bar, taking a first sip of something amber on ice as she approached for her own refreshment. She eyed the contents of his glass for too long, and he caught her in the act.

"It's my first and only," he assured her.

"I was just wondering where you'd gotten to. You left me all alone out there," she said, in an attempt to recognize his gallant support from earlier in the evening.

He shook his head before he took another sip. "You didn't need me. And I've heard all those stories that were so new and fascinating to you."

Her face fell. "You're bored."

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's an occupational hazard."

"We can go. I've come, I've seen, I've mingled."

He pursed his lips sternly. "You're enjoying yourself. This is about my penance, remember, I owe you this. You fit in here, you should stay."

"This is probably as close to my dream Algonquian table as I'll ever come," she admitted dreamily.

"I highly doubt it's that good. Who would be at that table, besides my father?" he asked, clearly pained by the addition of his kin.

She smiled at his interest. "Well, of course Christiane Amanpour," she began.

"At a table with my father? You must have a taste for bloodshed," he said in high amusement as he took another sip.

She frowned. "They don't get along?"

"He wrote a scathing review of her coverage of the fighting in Somalia in the early nineties and booed when she won an award for her work at the Foreign Correspondents Dinner."

Her own jaw hung open. "He's crazy. I've read everything she's ever written, and even her earliest stuff was amazing."

Logan held up a palm sheepishly. "He told her if she insisted on going behind enemy lines, he'd be happy to show her a good time. She knocked him to the ground, too, which was easy since he was four sheets to the wind at that point in the evening."

"Geez, it's a wonder he continues to drink if he acts out so much when he's drunk."

He leaned in toward her, and she was very aware that from his vantage point he could likely see directly into her cleavage. The dress she'd chosen was an impulse, something she'd tried on because of its lure on the hanger and found impossible not to purchase once she'd seen how well it had fit her body once it was on. The fact that it had a possibility to drive him a little crazy was just icing on the cake. After all, that night was about him making things right with her, and the way he'd looked at her all evening made her feel like all the money he no doubt had in his bank account.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Sure," she responded, her blue eyes twinkling at his desire to share.

"We Huntzberger men love women as much as we love fine alcohol, but we find it hard to combine the two properly."

"You sound like trouble," she breathed out, wondering if she should opt for something stronger than club soda this time around.

He smiled. "I don't mind trouble. Besides, I'll find the right combination eventually."

She definitely needed something else to drink, something fortifying. Staring into his brown eyes she suddenly felt her mouth go dry and there was warmth in her cheeks that hadn't been there before, as if someone had just turned the thermostat up a few notches.

"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked as she stepped up and leaned on the polished bar.

She nodded. "Martini, please."

He stepped to her side. "So you do plan on having fun tonight."

She turned to face him. "I'm already having fun. One drink won't make a difference. Besides, you're driving me home, right?"

He wet his lips and nodded. "That's right."

"Your martini, Miss."

She smiled at the bartender and took her drink, slipping money from her clutch into the tip jar before turning away. Logan followed at a pace behind her.

"So, your father is a no-show?"

Logan snorted. "I wish. He'll show up eventually. He likes to make an entrance. It wouldn't do for people not to notice him."

She turned. "Whereas you'd be happy to blend in unnoticed, right?"

He didn't seem bothered by the idea. "It has its benefits."

"Such as not having to listen to the same old boring stories?" she guessed.

He smiled. "That's one advantage. The other is no one goes looking for you when you slip away for a little alone time."

"You hide all by yourself? Why not just leave altogether?" she asked, unable to fathom such behavior. She knew he was eager to make a quick escape, and she was the only thing standing between him and freedom on that particular evening.

"I never said I hid away alone. It's much more fun to go into exile with someone else."

"Someone else who doesn't have boring stories?" she pressed.

"Someone who isn't interested in talking much at all, preferably," he admitted, as she noticed how close he was without actually touching her. He was at her shoulder, with most of his body just behind her like a shield. His mouth a breath away from her ear, so she could hear him and only him with sole clarity, whereas everyone else's chatter was muted and combined in a chorus of background noise. They were in a sea of people and the only person he wanted to talk to was her. That knowledge was more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol she could ingest.

"Where would you even go, in a place like this?" she inquired, not wanting to sound game for joining him, but unable to stop herself all the same.

She felt his hand at her waist, the light pressure of his fingers wrapping just slightly around toward the front of her hip. "Don't you want to finish your drink? I saw Seymour Hersh over by the windows, if you'd rather discuss international cyber spy tactics."

"I'm already talking to someone, and my drink's nearly finished," she said before she took a slow, steady attempt to drain her glass. It was almost an impossible feat, to finish what she'd just barely started in one gulp, but she managed to void an impressive amount all the same. The liquid raced through her system and she turned in toward him in case she had a sudden misstep as the liquid hit her bloodstream. What better support system than someone that was already holding you up, she wondered.

"I'd talk to you all night," he said with a deep resonance as she stood pressed into him.

"We don't have to talk," she said, caught up in a moment she hadn't anticipated. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that he looked so damn good in his suit, or she was so high on fitting into that scene, or if her dress had bolstered her self-esteem in conjunction with the martini, but the draw she felt for the man that had made the whole night happen was intense and all she wanted to do was kiss him to see what it would feel like. He hadn't thought it such a bad idea, and surely it would be harmless to simply press her lips to his.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice low and quiet, for her ears alone. She followed close beside him as they headed the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd, out toward the restrooms and main entry. There was a small hallway that led to a narrow staircase, which was lit by antique gas-lamps. They were in an old hotel in the heart of the city, the kind of place she loved and she assumed most other writers enjoyed as well, for their history and to share in company of those who came before them. Very few parts of the place had been modernized, and their secluded hideaway might not have been changed since the 20s, with the old style wall paper and constricted passageways.

"You just happened to notice this on your way inside?" she teased him even as her back met the wall and he stood before her, looking down at her like he was ready to devour her like dessert.

"I like to know where all the exits are. We can go back in and join everyone else," he offered weakly, and she assumed his willpower to step aside and let her walk away was at an all-time low.

"I'm fine here," she assured him, and before she knew what was happening his lips were covering hers, his mouth hot and seeking against her own. His hands were the only steadying force, strong at her waist, pulling her against him firmly.

She could blame her actions on the quick trip her drink made through her system, his liberal use of compliments he'd offered her that night, or maybe even the way he'd been staring at her all evening. It didn't matter by then, as she was compelled to continue what they'd started.

-X-

He held her close and tight, not willing to risk her taking any opportunity to come to her senses and leave him hot and bothered. At least, that's why he initially put his hands on her. Once he felt her curves with his own hands, and let his fingers grip into the soft fabric and mold her body against his, he found it impossible to let go.

He kissed the glossy sheen from her lips, setting out to deconstruct her perfect facade and find out what was just underneath. His thoughts came in bursts, offset by the growing lust that was coursing through his veins in place of blood. All his blood was violently displaced and he pressed the evidence of that reaction up against her core. She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek into the wall and emitted a groan. He wasn't sure if he should attribute it to defeat or pure desire, and either way he took it as a sign to continue on. He laced one hand up from her exposed neck and into her hair, holding her head in place as he dropped his lips down along the smooth expanse of skin.

She raised her leg up along the outside of his, and he slid a hand under to support her thigh. In doing so, his fingers grazed her bare leg, where her dress was cut with a slit. He instantly weighed his chances of remaining completely out of sight in their current location, and he knew they were on a crash course for indecency. His hand stroked her bare leg, and she gasped as she shivered.

"Rory," he moaned, surprising them both. She stiffened and put her hands to his chest, holding him back without pushing.

"This is crazy," she said, her voice breathy and her resolve not as solid as it normally was.

"This is a hotel. Say the word, and I can have a room in less than three minutes," he said, playing the fact that she was still drawn into the rush of sexual attraction.

"We can't," she said, trying to convince herself. He wasn't so easily swayed. He didn't believe in denying himself such pleasures.

"Says who?" he challenged, knowing that if she was allowed too much thought or discourse, she'd talk herself out of it entirely. He decided to play to his strength and her apparent weakness, and slid his hand up her waist and followed the lithe line of her body until he grazed the soft curve of her breasts. He watched raptly as her bottom lip hooked between her teeth. She failed to offer any further argument, so he leaned forward and kissed the exposed section of her chest, to which she melted back against the wall. "I'm not going to complain about the thrill of getting caught continuing things right here, but I'm not going to be able to stop soon. You've got me all worked up."

He saw the decision in her eyes before she vocalized her consent. "Get a room," she said, only serving to further arouse him.

"Wait here," he instructed, giving her one more kiss before he left her to make a reservation at the front desk. He passed the room they'd been in shortly before, and tapped lightly on the front counter until the reservation agent got off the phone and turned her attention to him.

"How can I help you?"

"A room, please, best one you have available," he instructed. It was a habit of his, to ask for the best, but it was also what he wanted for what he had in mind for her. He wanted her to see all he had to offer. She might be comfortable taking the bus and living a co-ed's existence, but it didn't mean she didn't deserve more. He was willing to give her whatever she'd accept.

"Very well, sir," she replied briskly, her fingers clicking over the keyboard to search her computerized system, a modern update to the historic hotel. She ticked off a fee and a description, neither of which registered to him as he handed over a credit card and hoped for greater expediency. The longer he left Rory alone, the better chance he had of her changing her mind. He needed to keep her engaged and distracted—two of his specialties. He'd just gotten his key and receipt and stepped away as he heard his name being called.

"Logan?"

It wasn't the feminine voice he would have hoped for. He turned to see his father advancing on him. "Leaving so soon?"

He darted his eyes in the direction he'd left Rory before bracing himself for whatever his father would impose upon him. "Just taking a breather. Are you just arriving?"

Mitchum stood straight and adjusted his shoulders to steady his stance against his son. "I had work to do. It must be nice to be able to cut out early and not burden yourself with such responsibilities."

"I came in early and everything was under control when I left. You were the one that insisted I make an appearance tonight."

His father sighed. "I am trying to make your transition smoother. If you'd follow my instructions, your life could be much easier."

"I'm not interested in taking the easy way in life," Logan defended his lifestyle, yet again.

"Clearly. Shall we go in?"

Logan couldn't stop himself from glancing back to where he'd left Rory. His own adrenaline had been cut from the confrontation with his father. "I'll be in after you. I just have something else to attend to."

Mitchum's face hardened. "You're supposed to be networking, not screwing some vapid bimbo. Just because they held the event at a hotel is not an excuse to book a room by the hour."

"I didn't ask your opinion," Logan shot back, immediately defensive.

"If you like the girl so much, bring her in. You need someone you can be serious about, not a distraction."

He ground his teeth together. "I already brought her in. Had you been on time, you would have met her."

Mitchum perked up. "You have a young woman you'd like to introduce to the family?"

It was a trap. He was wholly and acutely aware of that fact, and yet he fell into it anyway. It was a danger of speaking candidly with his father, of trying to gain enough approval to be left alone. "Not if I keep her waiting."

"You made the rounds already?" Mitchum checked.

Logan nodded. "My duty is done. Sharing time with you was not a requirement you set."

Mitchum sighed. "Fine. I'll see you Wednesday, then, for the budget meeting."

Logan blanched. "You're sitting in on that?"

"Consider me a fly on the wall," he said with a wave of his hand.

Logan stood and watched his father walk away. That was a crisis that he couldn't worry about yet. He'd add it to the list of things to attend to after he enjoyed his evening. After his father disappeared into the party, he turned to return to the woman who was waiting on him.

-X-

Her thoughts were scattered and kept returning to the memory of his hands on her body and his lips on her skin. It was a new sensation, the authoritative way in which he handled her, like a man on a mission. Nothing about his affection was timid or unsure. It was clear he knew exactly what he wanted to do to her, and she would be lying if she tried to say she didn't want to let him. Her limited experience with more carnal matters in the past were of a sweet, if somewhat shy nature, which had been pleasant in a way and moderately exciting at the time. It had felt expected and safe, despite all the circumstances surrounding the relationship, though it wasn't the part of the connection she missed once they'd broken up. In fact, she was hard pressed to offer anything she missed from her last relationship. She'd been sad it hadn't worked out, but only because of all the pain they'd caused by getting back together in the first place. No one would be hurt by her spending a night in a hotel room with Logan Huntzberger, save for possibly her down the road.

For a man in a hurry to get her upstairs, and she knew his tactics had been solely for the purposes of getting her upstairs as fast as possible, he was taking his sweet time in securing a hotel room. She willed herself to wait patiently, but after the way he'd revved her up, patience wasn't a virtue she could proclaim. She wasn't feeling very virtuous at all, as desire overrode most all of her better senses.

He appeared distracted when he finally did come back for her. He wound an arm around her waist and kissed her, but the ferocity he'd employed before was muted. She pulled back and touched his face gently. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go up."

She frowned at his lack of eye contact. "Hey. Wait a sec," she requested.

He met her eyes impatiently. "Did you change your mind?"

"You seem upset," she offered, concerned at his abrupt shift in demeanor.

"I just need to be distracted, that's all," he said smoothly, leaning in for another bone-melting kind of kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, linking her wrists and lifting her hands up behind his head. He was really good at what he did, and she pushed the thought out of her mind of how practice made for perfection.

"I don't want to be just a distraction," she said, pouting only a little in effort to draw out whatever had bothered him.

"You're nothing but distracting in that dress," he nearly growled, his hand suddenly full of the fabric and her flesh beneath it. "We should get it off."

She was acutely aware that her dress was not the only thing that would get off that evening. Her whole body seemed to be humming in tune with the frequency of his desire for her. It was hard to argue with his logic when her body was forsaking her in response to him. It only took one more possessive kiss for her to let him lead her by the hand up two flights of stairs to the room for which he had the key.

The moment he shut the door to the room, he pulled her back into him, locking her between his body and the door. She leaned in to him, wondering just how aggressive his affection would be now that they were behind closed doors. Her approach was playful and slow, pressing her lips lightly on his even as his hands tugged at her dress.

"Are you in a hurry?" she asked, offering him a wide-eyed, nearly innocent face.

"I can't figure you out," he said, frowning a little after his hand dropped from her body.

She turned as he walked away from her, further into the room. For the first time she noticed how nice it was. It wasn't a run-of-the-mill hotel room, at least not one like she'd ever had the opportunity to stay in. The room was filled with luxuries that were not an option in standard hotel rooms. The fabrics were more luxurious, the furniture larger, and the space unending. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed that could have fit an entire family comfortably.

"You were doing pretty well before, I think," she complimented him.

He shook his head. "I don't mean I don't know how to arouse you. I can do that without understanding a thing about you."

"Had a lot of practice, have you?" she asked glibly.

"You've been so insistent that we can't even be near each other, outside of work. And it can't be the booze; you've only had one drink."

"Did you change your mind?" she asked, not sure of what had derailed their momentum, other than his extended time getting the key for their room.

"I just don't get it. You were so against this. You said you didn't want to be some replaceable office bimbo."

She stiffened. "Is that what this is for you?"

He held his head in his hands. "This is a bad idea."

Anger flared in her chest. "You were the one complimenting me and looking at me all evening."

He cocked his head. "I was looking at you?"

She pointed at him. "You were. Every time, there you were, just looking at me."

"How was I looking at you?" he queried.

"I was right about you before. This is just some big game to you, isn't it? Prove that I wanted to have sex with you, and the moment you've done that then the thrill of the chase is gone."

He stood up, his frustration building to match hers. "You think you know everything about me, don't you?"

She put a hand on her hip. "I know enough."

"You know I was looking at you, not what I was thinking."

"What happened when you went to get the room key?"

"This has nothing to do with that."

"But something happened," she prodded.

He let out a sigh, frustrated to be forced into the explanation. "My father showed up."

She hesitated, not wanting to push him to breaking over deep-seated father issues. "You two fought?"

"No, that would be too obvious. He put me in my place and asked to meet you."

She could feel the blood rush to her face. "You told him about me? We're not even dating."

He held up a hand. "He assumed I was with a girl. I mentioned we'd already made the rounds. He made his own assumptions."

"But you didn't correct him."

"It wouldn't do any good. What's worse is you're exactly the kind of woman he would want me to be with."

"What's the even mean?" she yelped.

"You know the life. You're smart, you understand the demands of the news business, and you can come to these parties and charm the pants off of anyone and everyone."

"But you don't want that life, right?"

"Take a look at me, Rory. It already is my life!"

She crossed her arms, her chest now flushed from her heated emotions instead of her ramped-up desire. "So, what, you thought you'd try it, but you just can't bring yourself to go through with it?"

He stood up and grabbed her suddenly by the elbows. "No! I'm with you because I can't stop thinking about you. I want this. I want you, regardless of everything else."

"Because I know the business and enjoyed myself tonight?" she asked, not understanding his attraction.

"Because I can't quit looking at you. I was, looking at you. Your lips, your legs, your hair, all of you," he said, his intensity once again driven with lust instead of anger. She still wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or slug him. For some reason, she felt that hitting him wouldn't allow her to work out all her frustrations.

"You want a better look?" she asked, stepping back and reaching for the hidden side zipper of her dress. He was definitely looking at her as she let the fabric fall to the floor.

-X-

He hadn't gotten any answers from her, but she'd definitely succeeded in silencing him. She stood there before him, in delicate undergarments, allowing him the kind of view that would be forever etched in his mind. It was the kind of moment that would live on in his memory, no matter how short their time together might end up. He could think of a million reasons that their being together was a bad idea, but with her mostly naked in front of him, he couldn't think of his own name.

He put his hands on her once again, this time cupping her breasts before tracing the line of her bra around to the back until his fingers found the fastening. She stood still, letting him take the lead, since she'd put them back on that track. She took a deep breath in as he unfastened the tiny hooks that held the garment together and encased her in his arms.

The bra fell from her body, and he felt his hand shake just the slightest bit. He pushed the reaction aside and took her lips again as her bare chest pressed into his shirt. Their limbs tangled at that point, and both of them started moving their bodies in tandem toward the bed. He tried to pace himself, to enjoy each and every last inch of skin that he had exposed to him. He'd always remained in control when it came to sex, with the exception of extreme cases of intoxication. But here he was, with a legal blood alcohol limit and worked into a frenzied state while still in the foreplay stage. She hardly seemed content to lay back and let him have his way, either. Her hands were just as busy, ridding him of his jacket, then his tie, and growing more frustrated with each and every button her fingers had to liberate to relieve him of his shirt. Her groomed fingernails raked over his chest once his torso was as bare as hers, causing him the kind of pain that felt far too good. She'd drive him crazy if he let her, and at that juncture he wasn't positive it wouldn't be worth it.

With each taste of her, he found more and more reason to return, discovering favorite new flavors as if he were sampling ice cream selections. Her skin was soft everywhere, but more sensitive in certain places. Her strength was mainly mental, but she proved to be far from fragile. She was rough with him, exploring his body at her own pace, and guiding him to her needs. He knew what she wanted and didn't believe in such ruses of pretending she still had a decision to make—not after the short work she'd made of his pants. The moment her hand encased him, there was no question about who was in charge. She might have been the one on her back, but he was barely capable of holding himself up over her. His eyes closed in pleasure with each stroke. Warmth built in the pit of his stomach, and had he not been so practiced and regimented in such matters, he might have stopped her before then. He wasn't superhuman, but he was confident in his ability to rebound after climax, given the right stimulation. Lucky for him, she was exactly what the situation called for. He allowed himself the full release at her hand, kissing her in kind for the attention. He wasn't about to deny himself the chance to enter her, but that would have to wait. It was his turn to offer her the same kind of attention she'd given him, and the added bonus was the arousal factor it offered.

Just the thought of her crying out under his touch, be it his stroking fingers or lavishing tongue, worked to that end. But first, he kissed her again. It was something he repeated, again and again, relishing in the feel of her breasts pressing into his chest as he showered her lips with short, hungry kisses. He ground down into her as the kisses got longer and deeper, and moans began filling the small spaces when their mouths separated.

There was no need for separation as she brought him back to life. She once again pushed him to haste, and he only found relief once he'd buried himself deep inside her. She lifted her hips, but he kept still, holding them in that moment with their foreheads pressed together. He didn't realize his eyes were closed until he felt her hand soft at his cheek, and she brushed her thumb down to his lips.

"What is it?" she whispered, her big blue eyes trained on him.

"Shhh," he murmured, kissing her once before he started to move. From that point out, control was not an option.

-X-

There was no regret in her mind as she lay awake quietly in the middle of the night. She had no idea what time it was, unwilling to risk waking him up to peer at the clock. She hadn't planned on anything more than attending that party with him and being returned to her room at a potentially late hour. She hadn't anticipated spending the night, let alone in a bed shared with him. She took to watching him sleep, staring at him for longer stretches as she found he was a deep, sound sleeper.

"You're staring at me."

She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. "You're supposed to be sleeping," she accused.

He smiled and turned to look at her. "So are you. What time is it?"

"I don't know, exactly. Late."

"Or early," he contended.

"Do you really always have to argue with me?"

"Unless you're going to tell me why you were staring at me," he consented.

She bit her lip and thought for a minute. "I was trying to figure out what happened last night."

"We had sex," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I understand that," she said tersely. "But what I can't quite grasp is how we went from platonic friends attending a party to the two of us in a hotel room having sex."

"That's not such a mystery. We were never going to manage to be platonic friends."

"Then why did you agree to it?" she asked.

"I never agreed to it, not really, and all bets were off when you opened your door wearing that dress."

"Really, you're blaming my outfit? It didn't perhaps have more to do with your inability to stop undressing me with your eyes?"

"Are you upset that we had sex?" he clarified.

"No! I just don't see how we can go back from here."

"Why would we go back?"

She let out a heavy breath. "We work together. You're my boss."

"Yes."

"And we've slept together."

"We'd do more sleeping if you hadn't been staring at me."

"We have to talk about this."

He turned up on his side and used his elbow to prop himself up over her. "You have concerns."

She frowned at his statement. "Don't you?"

He shook his head. "I like working with you. I very much enjoy what we just did. Where's the problem?"

"Well, is this just a one-time thing?"

He ran a hand lazily down her arm. It felt impossibly good for such a simple gesture. "Do you want it to be?"

She closed her eyes at the warmth of his touch. "It was … ."

"Amazing," he said with a succinct nod.

"But complicated. You're still my boss."

"Until my father fires me."

Concern coursed through her. "Did he say something?"

He tensed beside her and his hand stilled on her body. "He's never going to be happy with anything I do. He's always waiting for his chance to prove I'm not ready for the challenge, no matter what it is."

His voice was tight and strained and she wanted to assure him that he was doing a good job in her estimate, for what that was worth. But nothing she could say would ease that burden. "You really think we can work together and keep having sex?"

"It's not a problem for me," he said confidently.

"But we wouldn't be dating, would we?" she asked skeptically.

"Neither of us was looking for that, were we?" he posed, making a point not to be the one to choose.

She'd been hesitant to enter into another relationship after her recent failure. In fact, most of her relationships had seemed to end with some major failure, often on her part. She couldn't see how either of them had time for a proper relationship. He was working a lot of hours, far more than a regular forty-hour week as the fate of a newspaper fell on his shoulders, and she was up to her eyeballs in co-ed responsibilities. What working professional would really want to have to keep picking up their girlfriend at her dorm? She couldn't see any true longevity—their attraction was borne out of the fact they were thrown together in a situation that had a time limit. Therefore, in her mind, they had a time limit. No matter how good the sex was, it wasn't a permanent attachment.

"No, we weren't," she agreed.

"You want to sleep on it?" he asked, respectful of her indecision and the late hour.

"Sleep… with you."

"Unless you plan on kicking me out of bed," he teased.

She put an arm around his torso. "No. I like you in the bed. You're warm."

"If you're cold, there are other options we could employ to warm you up," he said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, a similar smile covering her face.

"It warms me up," he said softly, leaning in to kiss her softly. His lips were soft and sure, leading her right back into a rush of desire and heat and the lack of common sense. Her body responded to his in ways she'd never anticipated. Being with Logan was nothing like she'd ever experienced. It was more akin to something she might have read about in a novel, with sweeping emotions and passion that caught her off guard. The way he touched her guided her to sensations that went past satisfaction and into uncharted territory. It was the kind of sex that she would put other parts of her life in jeopardy for, risking the simple boundaries she'd wanted to keep in place for more nights like that. But if she were truly being honest with herself, then she would admit that their brand of sexual chemistry was bound to lead them down that path sooner or later. Sooner must mean more mind-blowing sex, and as he revved her up for a second time that night she was in no place to argue with that kind of logic.

She let him explore further that time, trying to see what he'd do with unlimited rein. She'd felt frenzied before, the pull of wanting more and more of him as soon as possible spurring him to chase the inevitable end. She kept her hands off him, tossing them up over her head and gripping the edge of the pillow as he slid down her body, nearly disappearing under the blankets. She soon found they fit together in more ways than one, as she hooked her legs over his shoulders and arched her hips up. His arms anchored her and he proved himself capable of finding every last pleasure point on her body. It was only after she put her palms on his head to steady them both, her body still quaking from the inside out, that she knew exactly what she was willing to risk with him.

He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping briefly in her navel, reverently sealing his affection. She curled into him as he lay back down against the pillows next to her, effortlessly sliding one arm under her to pull her to his chest.

"I don't need a boyfriend," she said quietly. "And it does seem a shame for this to be a one-time deal."

He kissed her temple. "I agree."

She turned her face up to his. "That might be the first time we've ever agreed."

"Then we'd be fools to ignore those odds."

She yawned and shifted back down to his chest. Her head fit so comfortably in the space between his upper body and the pillow, she was asleep before she had time to worry about the decision they'd just made. She was far too content, on so many levels, to give way to any possible negative consequences. But even in the back of her mind as she drifted off, there was the niggling realization that things were seemingly too good to be true.


	7. Saying Yes, This Is A Fine Promotion

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Saying Yes, This Is A Fine Promotion

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory reemerged out of her room into the shared space of her dorm suite for the second time that day. Her roommate was deep in test preparation mode, needing the extra space to spread out in the biggest available venue. Every last surface was covered with papers and note cards and opened books, taken up without the worry of being disturbed. It was a common practice they shared, and it worked well until finals came around and Paris instituted a strict schedule for them to have plenty of time—though Paris tended to allot the majority of Rory's hours during the time she usually reserved for sleep.

"Hey, did I get any calls?" Rory asked as she walked around into Paris' field of view.

Paris failed to look up at her roommate, her brow furrowed and a pencil between her teeth. "No," she spoke around the pencil.

"Oh," Rory said, emitting disappointment. "Were you here all morning?"

"Does it look like I just sat down? I've been right here, and the phone rang only once, and it was a telemarketer trying to use his poorly worded script to con me into switching my long-distance phone service, even though I live here and have no choice of phone service thanks to the monopoly that is our great university. I then lectured them on knowing their target audience and not wasting the time of people who are likely to one day cure cancer, if only they could stop being interrupted while they study by idiots who are in the business of wasting everyone's time with badly rehearsed sales pitches."

Rory sighed at the end of the characteristic rant. "That was the only phone call?"

Paris finally glanced up. "Why, were you expecting their call?"

"No. Never mind, I was just curious."

"Aren't you going to the paper?" Paris inquired skeptically, continuing the conversation as she'd already been disturbed from her flow.

"I'm ready to leave now, why?"

"Because you look like you're about to go out on a date," Paris judged as she pointed to Rory's feet. "Those are fuck-me pumps, are they not?"

Rory dropped her mouth open, scandalized by the notion. "Please do not refer to my footwear in that manner. They're nice, respectable shoes."

Paris rolled her eyes. "You know, I don't expect you to tell me every detail about your sex life, but have a little respect for my proven extraordinary intelligence. It's obvious you're getting some."

Rory blushed furiously in an instant. "What?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Gilmore. You're getting laid, and you're hardly a master of deflection. If you don't want people to know you're having sex, then you should at least attempt to mask your tells."

"My tells?"

"The idiosyncratic behaviors that give away your actions," she explained automatically.

"I know what tells are, Paris. I was just unaware I had sex tells. What are they?"

"The late hours. The difference in your clothes. The unseasonal glow to your skin. People assume that's from solely from sex, but in my experience it's from the additional water intake. All that sweating makes me really thirsty."

"I'm not having that much sex," Rory defended herself, though she wasn't sure why she needed to defend her actions, especially to Paris of all people. Paris had been with far more inappropriate people, sexually speaking.

Paris smiled knowingly. "Quality over quantity, that's what I say."

Rory couldn't help but smile in kind. "I can definitely agree with that motto."

"So this new lover is good?" Paris inferred.

"Don't call him that," Rory said, wrinkling her nose in discomfort. The word lent itself to a vastly different encounter than what she was engaged in, not to mention it was far more concrete than what she had with Logan.

"That's what this guy is, isn't he? You haven't been going on dates, and sex without dates equals a lover."

"Yes, but he has a name," Rory said, stopping quickly as she realized the natural progression of the conversation she'd started.

Paris grinned, reminding Rory of the Cheshire cat from one of her most beloved children's tales. It was creepier on Paris than the cat in the story, as she had way more experience with Paris and her facial expressions. "Is it someone I know?"

Rory turned to grab her coat. "His name isn't important, and it's not worthy of a discussion. We're keeping things low-key; it's just a casual thing."

Paris snorted. "That will work out well."

Rory turned, a stern frown already formed. "What's that mean?"

"That means while it feels good right now, it's not going to last. You're not a casual sex kind of person."

Rory balked. "I don't need a relationship. I'm capable of remaining detached."

Paris didn't appear convinced in the slightest. "Maybe not at first. But you care about people, and while that's a very redeeming quality in the eyes of society, it makes it impossible to keep having sex, especially good sex, remain meaningless for very long."

"I don't agree. Sexual chemistry has nothing to do with compatibility on any other level. I have no interest in dating this guy, and I'm too busy for relationships right now, even if he were right for me. What we have is perfect—and by the time the attraction passes, we'll both be ready for it to end and no one will get hurt. It's perfect."

Paris turned back to her lapful of book. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

"I'm sleeping very well at night, thank you very much."

"Another side effect of good sex. This guy must be amazing."

Rory added her bag over her shoulder with a pleased smile. "I have no complaints."

Paris straightened up suddenly and stared at Rory. "Oh my God. Tell me it's anyone but him."

Rory shirked back a bit. "Who?"

"He must have been with every debutante on the eastern seaboard. Please tell me you're not having casual sex with Logan Huntzberger!"

"Not that it's any of your business, but so what if I am? I don't care who else he's been with."

"You will when you get any number of STDs he's capable of passing on to you. Tell me you're being safe. Don't just rely on the school clinic, either. There are back-alley abortion clinics that have better sterilization practices than that place."

Rory shuddered in disgust. "Will you relax? We're being very safe."

"Do you know his sexual history? Do you really know anything about him other than the fact that he has a last name that equates him to royalty in the newspaper business?"

"I know enough about him. And I'm not sleeping with him because of his last name. I told you, we have sexual chemistry."

"Did he get you drunk? Is that how this started? Because you hated him, and with good reason."

"I didn't hate him, and he did not get me drunk. We were at a party, but we were both practically sober. And we're in complete agreement about how to handle our arrangement."

"Is part of that having sex in his office? Or is this just your new look?" Paris cajoled.

"Work is work. Everything else is separate. And what is so bad about my clothes?"

"So there will be no flirting, no knowing glances in the presence of others, and certainly no illicit meetings in a supply closet?"

"Our supply closet isn't big enough to do anything illicit in, other than stealing pens," Rory corrected.

"It just always surprises me how naïve you can be. But I guess it's good to know that you're eternally predictable," Paris summarized, clearly done with the conversation.

"I'm not naïve, or predictable. What I am is in a hurry. I should have left ten minutes ago."

"I'm sure your boss will slip it to you—I mean, let it slip," Paris taunted.

Rory stuck her tongue out at her roommate and exited the suite. She was not about to give one iota of credence to Paris' summation of her current state of affairs. It was her business, hers and no one else's. She'd definitely broken her own rule by discussing it in the first place. She'd realized, rightly so, that most people would scoff at her unorthodox arrangement with Logan, solely based on the fact that he was technically her boss. But she didn't need anyone's approval for what was transpiring between her and Logan. She was slow to put a label on it herself. While he was the last person she'd ever consider dating, she had to admit that what had transpired between them in that hotel room—over the course of nearly twenty-four hours—it was transcendent. But regardless of how good the sex had been, she still couldn't envision wanting him to become her boyfriend.

The transition between sleeping with him and working alongside him was sure to have its own set of issues, but nothing she couldn't handle. At least, that's what she told herself as she drove toward the _Gazette_ offices in a wholly optimistic mood.

-X-

"That's not how it's done."

"It's how we do it," Logan said again, in the most drained tone he could muster, as he was tired of endlessly answering in a like manner.

"Have you ever heard of the term industry standard? They're standards for a reason."

"It's much faster, cheaper, and allows people to see their loved ones on a regular basis. It's the digital age, Dad."

Mitchum turned to his son with an impatient glare. "I know what technology is, but we don't have the funds to throw at this paper to invest in cutting-edge technology to save a few minutes' time."

"A few minutes? Try six hours a day, at least. And anyone can do this, instead of a dedicated staffer. I have an intern busting this out half the time."

"You used my money on the software?"

"No, I used mine. And not just the software, but the hardware, too."

Mitchum eyed his son. "You invested your own money into this paper, after I told you my plans for it?"

"You didn't want to give it a chance. It deserved a chance."

Mitchum murmured, but Logan couldn't ascertain if it was a negative or positive response. "Let's move onto advertising," his father declared.

Logan folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall behind him. "We have a meeting in an hour, and I'll go over the latest changes to advertising."

"With the rest of the staff, fine. But I'm not one of your staffers. I'm the head of this company and can decide to shut you down for any reason. I'm not going into a meeting like that blind."

"I have several new sponsors signed on, set to roll out with the revamped website, all of which will bring in additional revenue."

"Revamped website? Let me guess, you have another intern on that as well?" Mitchum ribbed his son.

"You have a problem with interns suddenly?" Logan shot back.

Mitchum grinned, not at all put off by his son's calling out of his bad behavior. "Interns serve their purposes, but you can't base your success off of their labor."

"I'm not. But I do think that the team that's here, down to even our newest intern, can turn the paper around and make it profitable again."

"Let me guess, you just want more time. And some more seed money."

"Time would be nice, but I don't expect any favors from you."

Mitchum appeared almost impressed. "I almost feel like you've learned something."

Logan squared his shoulders. "Isn't that what my life has been about, a series of lessons you want me to learn?"

"You know, one day you're going to realize just how alike we are. It'll be a horrible day, and it'll involve a lot of alcohol, but once you move past the denial and get into acceptance you'll also realize that it's not so bad."

"What makes you so sure of any of that?" Logan asked skeptically.

Mitchum lifted his chin as he neared the door. "I had a similar epiphany when I was not much older than you are now. How's the coffee here?"

Logan frowned. "Uh, it's good."

"Another intern's handiwork?" Mitchum asked with a smile.

"Right," Logan said blankly as his father left him alone in the confines of his office. The talk of intern power around the office cut through his disillusioned family issues. His instinct was always to avoid dealing with his family, and he knew somewhere on the premises was the intern that was able to help forget all this problems, both in his professional and personal life. At least, she was able to handle anything he'd thrown at her so far at the paper, and they'd spent nearly a whole day in a hotel room that left him in need of rehydration and rest the day after.

He stepped out of his office and moved toward her usual post once he saw no sign of his father in the halls. She wasn't sitting at her desk, but her computer was on and there was a lipstick-ringed coffee cup next to the keyboard. He lifted his head and darted his eyes around to perform a quick scan of the surrounding area. She often helped out wherever she was needed, in addition to her expected duties. While he was hoping that would benefit him at the moment, he was frustrated that the quality made her hard to locate quickly.

"I promise, Harry. You'll never be able to tell Gina did the first proof. I'll fix it and it'll be like a bad dream."

Logan turned his attention to Harry's office, where Rory was standing in the doorway, still coddling their co-worker. He had a perfect view of her backside, the form-fitting pencil skirt that had a generous, though still professional slit up the back. Her legs were bare underneath. Her hair was pulled back, but it was a hasty job she'd performed after she got to the paper, rather than a practiced effort in front of a mirror at home.

He was staring openly by the time she turned to notice him. She gave him a surprised head tilt, with no need of a verbal greeting. He smiled and she began in his direction, her heels clicking on the floor tiles. He couldn't help but take one more appreciative look at her legs. Those legs had been wrapped around him like a vice for over an hour at one point last weekend. He had yet to regain eye contact as she stopped before him.

"Logan?" she asked.

"Yes?" he countered, finally focusing on her shockingly blue irises.

She smiled again. "Did you need something? I have these proofs for Harry, but that shouldn't take me too long."

"Yeah, can those wait a minute? I wanted you to take a look at something."

It was clear she saw through his vague excuse. "Something urgent?"

"Urgent enough," he said diplomatically. "In my office," he added.

If she thought of denying him or at least making him give her a proper explanation for putting off real work to come with him at a moment's notice, she didn't show it. She simply dropped the paperwork on her desk next to her coffee cup and stepped up next to him. "Don't you have a big meeting in a little while?"

"I do," he said agreeably, without making eye contact. He needed to keep things brief and light until he got her in his office.

"Don't you need to be preparing for that?" she asked.

"That's where you come in," he said as he ushered her into his office.

She cocked her head. "Do you really need me to run PowerPoint again? It's a simple program," she teased him.

He shook his head. "I was thinking you would be more helpful in helping me get rid of some pre-meeting jitters."

She turned to him, her features awash in disbelief. "You have pre-meeting jitters?"

"It's more like a rush of adrenaline. I prefer to go in there calm and cool."

"And how do I help with that?"

He smiled and stepped up to her. He settled one hand around her waist and pulled her flush against him. "I can show you."

"Logan," she gasped before his lips met hers. He tugged her shirt out of her waistband and slid his hand up her flat, warm stomach. His thumb circled her bellybutton and she widened her stance to allow them to pull in closer together. "We shouldn't."

"Why not?" he asked, not bothering to slow down. If his adrenaline was elevated before, it was ready to bust through the roof at that point, having her close enough to consume.

"We're at work, in your office," she said in a staccato fashion between kisses. "We were going to keep things separate."

"No one suspects what we're doing in here," he assured her. "And we won't make a habit of it. I just haven't seen you in days."

"I had classes," she reminded him, as he eased her skirt up higher on her thighs.

"And I had work. But we're both here now," he said before attempting to cloud her judgment once again with his mouth. He worked his way further south and began unbuttoning her shirt.

"At work. We're working. Well, we were, now we're," she said as her train of thought derailed again, which was just the effect he'd been going for.

"If you want me to stop, I'll stop," he offered weakly as he dragged his lips from her mouth across her cheek to her ear. He could feel her breath come in short bursts against his skin and her fingers were entrenched in his shirt under his jacket. The last thing he wanted to do was to stop, so he did his damnedest to make sure she was fully engaged. He made sure he was able to catch her weight as her knees went weak from his personal touches to that end.

"Don't stop," she said hurriedly as she took the time to loosen his tie with a yank of her wrist. He wasn't sure if she was concerned about getting caught or if she was merely caught up in the moment, but he wasn't going to argue the point either way. They'd have ample opportunities to take their time. He gave in to the all the urges that he was normally better at controlling. Control had always been a part of his winning moves—something he prided himself on. Control was out the window as they sped together toward a quick end.

-X-

It was over as fast as it had begun, though she was minus a pair of panties and her skirt was up around her waist in the end. His forehead was pressed against her shoulder and neither made a move to pull apart from their joined position.

It shouldn't have happened—she shouldn't have let it happen. She wondered if Paris had been right and her whole demeanor had invited such behavior on his part. It was far more likely that once they'd opened the door to a physical relationship the weekend before, it was an association he would continue to make with her—the sheer possibility of sex in her presence. It wasn't too late to put a stop to future occurrences. Everything in moderation, that was a sane and logical method of operation and one they needed to employ.

"I should get back out there. Harry will want his proofs."

"You're going back out like that?" he asked, a smirk aimed her way gracing his lips.

"This wasn't a smart idea," she uttered for her own benefit, but loud enough for him to hear without straining.

"I asked if you wanted to stop," he said, in his own defense.

She lightly pressed her hand to his chest. "No, I know. I'm not blaming you. It's just, last weekend," she began in futility.

"You didn't owe me anything for last weekend," he cut in when she failed to explain her reasoning.

"I know. But it was like we were in a different situation, you know? For a little while, it was almost like you weren't my boss and we were just two people at a party, and it made sense. But it wasn't real life."

"It was real life. We were just two people at a party. I don't think of you as my underling. We're two people that find each other attractive. Why do you keep fixating on our job titles?"

"Because you're my boss!" she exclaimed.

"Look, I get that maybe what we just did was risky behavior, but don't go second guessing everything because of one misstep."

She frowned at him. "I'm not. I just don't think we can do that again, here in the offices, with people outside."

"Alright."

She studied his even reaction. "Really?"

He nodded and put a hand at her elbow. "Yes. It wasn't smart, you're right. I just saw you and I guess things got out of control. Maybe we'll figure out a system, like seeing each other the night before you come into the office, so we won't have any pent-up urges while we're working."

She couldn't believe her ears. She knew little of how many women he was concurrently seeing, but she found it unbelievable, if a little flattering, that he had any pent-up urges reserved solely for her. "I suppose that's an idea."

"Because, after all, you're here to work and learn. I'd hate to impede that for you."

"Not to mention Harry will cry if those proofs don't get fixed."

"Any other day, that's the worst that would happen, but today if things aren't perfect, Mitchum will hand out pink slips."

Rory stiffened in horror. "Your father's coming today?"

Logan shook his head. "He's already here."

She instantly buried her face in her hands. "Oh my God, Logan!"

"What?" he asked in earnest as she began tugging her skirt down and stepping back into her shoes.

"What? Your father is roaming around the building and you think that's a good time for a quickie in your office? Are you completely unhinged?"

"He went for coffee. He'll go straight to the conference room from there."

"And what if you can't guess every move the man makes? I don't want to meet my idol with half my make-up rubbed off and my panties missing."

"They're not missing, they're on my desk," he said calmly, as if it were a normal sentence to say. "And you look great."

"We can't do this. I am a smart girl, Logan. I mean, think whatever you will of me, seeing as I'm the person you just had sex with in your office, but I am normally a smart girl. I don't do stupid things. Great sex isn't worth the damage we just risked."

"I know you're a smart girl. You're probably the smartest person I know," he said as he watched her race to return to a state of proper appearance.

"Then explain what just happened," she demanded.

He took a steadying breath and stepped to her. He touched her haltingly, as if he were concerned she might freak out further. Not that she could blame him. She relaxed under his touch. She looked up into his warm brown eyes. "I take risks. I hedge bets. I like excitement. And I missed you."

She blinked, unable to quite process his last statement. "You did?"

He nodded. "I had a good time this weekend. I'd like the chance to have more good times with you. I don't want to ruin your reputation or your chance to make a great impression on my father. I never worried about that because of course he's going to be impressed by you. Who wouldn't be?"

She wished to regain her bearings, but they were long-since gone. "You're placating me?"

He kissed her lightly. "No. I'm trying to explain what just happened."

She let out a breath. "Then I'm going to go to the restroom to freshen up and pray that your father is sitting in the conference room drinking coffee while I finish those proofs."

"Sounds smart," he teased her.

She put a finger to his chest and pushed in hard. "Stop."

He squeezed her finger lightly. "I promise no one will know what just happened."

She nodded and gave him one last regard before she made her exit from his office. Once outside she made no attempt to achieve eye contact with anyone nearby and made a beeline for the bathroom. It was only there that she realized anyone with eyes could see what had just transpired in his office. Her clothes might have been on (straight even) but her hair had gone from quickly pulled back to a mess of falling down strands from where he'd woven his fingers in her locks and tugged her one way and another as they moved together. Her neck was flushed with light pink blotches, thanks to the blood that had raced through her body as she hit her climax up against his office wall. Any lipstick that she'd applied before leaving her dorm room had dissipated to nothingness from his lips dragging across hers over and over in hungry and hypnotic ways.

Nothing about the reflection staring back at her appeared remotely smart. All she saw was the aftermath of some very risky behavior.

-X-

"So, I thought you had a whole host of interns," Mitchum said after the rest of the staff filtered out.

"What made you think that?" Logan asked, still focused on trying to get PowerPoint to shut down on his laptop.

"The way you discussed their many uses, I envisioned a whole fleet, instead of one very capable co-ed."

Logan looked up at his father. He hadn't expected a pat on the back or even a single word of appreciation for what he'd managed to do in such a short time at his new post. Gaining his own financing for the proposed changes was not a task he'd been given, but it was the only way he'd be allowed to proceed. It had been a huge risk, and it had paid off.

"I'm trying to keep the staff low and productive."

"Interns are free," Mitchum reasoned.

"Yes, but I wasn't in charge of selection. I got what was assigned. Next time I'll make sure to add to the pool. For the time being, I'm happy with the hand I've been dealt."

His father raised an eyebrow. "How happy?"

"Excuse me?"

"You can't shit where you eat," he said bluntly.

Logan crossed his arms. "What brought on this very sage wisdom?"

"Most interns aren't worth the space they take up in the office. There's a high learning curve and they're best kept to making copies and making sure we have enough toner. Everyone I've spoken with has had an anecdote about this intern you have helping them out or saving their ass in some way. She sounds like a real asset, and one you can't afford to lose, even with your new media revenue streams."

"I'm aware of her worth."

"Then why are you screwing around with her?"

Logan stood straighter, his spine prickled with uneasiness. "That's none of your business."

"You've made it my business. If you want me to be on board with keeping this paper in circulation, then I need to be certain that you're doing everything in your power to keep it profitable, from the highest paid positions to the interns, or in this case intern. You have to be making the most of what you have, and having her quit after you lose interest isn't what's best for this scenario."

"You have no idea what you're taking about."

"Please, Logan. Don't pussyfoot around me. I know how office flings work. I'm not going to pretend to be an altar boy around you. These things never end well. She's young, and while she may be talented, she probably believes whatever lines you're feeding her. She won't want to help you work after you end things."

"I'm not feeding her lines. We're both adults."

"Consent isn't always reciprocal. Her consent involves her wanting to make the best impression on her boss. Interns are eager to please, to get to the next level."

"She's not like that," he defended her to his father, who not only hadn't even met her, but was making assumptions based on his own many past indiscretions.

Mitchum stood up and clapped his son on the back. "I know I've spent years urging you to grow up and see the world for what it is, but this was one area I thought you were prepared for. You're young, rich, and in a position of power. You need to be smart."

With that, he was gone. Logan was left alone, with questions he didn't want to entertain. He hated having doubts about Rory, based on what he believed to be poisonous thoughts injected by his father. Just because his father invited the kind of women that traded sex for other favors didn't mean that is what Rory was playing a similar game. Part of what he liked about her was that she didn't want any part of such games. She was with him to be with him—not wanting anything out of it at all. When she'd finally come around to his way of thinking, it had seemed almost too good to be true. He hadn't wanted to question it—her intentions or what would happen when something changed for her and she was no longer satisfied with the arrangement.

He shook his head as he argued internally. He wouldn't let his father get to him like that. It was business as usual for Mitchum, to undercut his authority and undermine his sense of control. He wanted Logan to fail, or at least to be afraid of failure. Success was the only option for Huntzbergers and with his coup with the meeting his father had little left to threaten him with in order to keep him on his toes. There was nothing wrong with his relationship with Rory. Everything would continue going exactly as he wanted. He felt his confidence surging as he exited the conference room to face the rest of his day.

-X-

Rory opened her door and said nothing as she took in the sight before her. She kept one hand on the tie of her robe, which was secured over her flannel pajamas. The cold snap was in full effect, and even with the heat on in the room, glancing out the window chilled her to the bone. The longer she held the door open, the more she wished she'd shoved her feet into slippers on the way to answer the late-night knock.

Logan stood in the breezeway, holding flowers and a pizza box. He grinned at her in the boyish way he had, the kind of smile that would take the edge off a host of misgivings. She wondered what he was up to, as he'd yet to show up at her room since they'd begun engaging in a relationship outside of work. She tried to ignore the slip up they'd made earlier that day, having a very physical encounter inside his office. She couldn't imagine he'd pull out the same excuse that he missed her already to explain his presence.

"If you don't invite me in, the pizza will get cold."

She smiled at him. "I happen to like cold pizza. It's the breakfast of champions. Or, at least of Gilmores."

He laughed. "Yeah, well, I haven't had dinner yet, so are you going to let me in or not?"

She stepped back and let him in, along with his pizza and flowers. "Are those edible flowers for dessert?" she inquired playfully.

He turned and extended the bouquet in her direction. "These are for you, so eating them is entirely your decision. You're also welcome to half the pizza, should you be so inclined."

"You brought me flowers and half a pizza?" she asked. "Were you just in the neighborhood?" she guessed.

"No. I wanted to apologize, for earlier. You were right—we shouldn't have done that in my office. As good as it felt," he said with a strong twinkle in his eyes that made her blush noticeably, "it's probably best we save that for after hours."

She nodded her agreement. "Apology accepted."

"Good. So, are you hungry?"

"A little. I'll have a slice now and save the rest of my half for breakfast."

"Is that an invitation?" he asked eagerly.

"You want to sleep in my dorm room?" she asked, wholly perplexed as to why he'd choose the cramped confines of her single bed for a place to crash. Granted, he'd recently slept on her couch, but at least he'd had the whole piece of furniture to himself and he'd been too drunk to care about comfort.

"I was thinking more with you than in your dorm room, but," he explained.

"So, the pizza was just a sham."

"No, the pizza is fuel. If tonight is anything like last weekend, I'll need it."

She blushed again. "What's on the pizza?"

"Bulldog special. Best pizza in New Haven," he said, opening the box for her inspection.

"I keep forgetting you went here, that you know this place as well as I do."

He considered her seriously, with such a stoic manner that left her wholly self-conscious under his scrutiny. "It's a shame our time here didn't overlap more. We never had a chance to enjoy it together."

She felt his words, but she felt a duty to lighten the moment with respect to their far more lax relationship. "Once a Bulldog, always a Bulldog, right?" she asked.

He gave a small chuckle. "That's the case in most families. You're a legacy, right? You surely got the hard sell."

Rory dipped her head, remembering the uncomfortable situations she endured over the matter of where she would go to college. "There was no shortage of passionate opinions on the matter."

He arched a brow. "What, did your parents both want you to choose their alma maters?"

She hesitated. She didn't often utter the following sentence out loud, but she always knew how it would sound. "Um, no. Neither of them went to college."

Surprise washed over his face. "Oh. I just assumed," he began.

She waved it off and took the pizza box from his hands. It had been so easy, at work especially, to keep things to much less emotion topics—to keep things on the surface. She didn't need him to know her whole life history. It was enough that he knew her as a journalism student, and for their only bonds to be Yale and the paper. She didn't want their time together to get heavy and complicated. She took his hand and began backing her way to her bedroom. "You know, I think it's time you gained an appreciation for pizza for breakfast."

His easy smile reappeared instantly, and he followed her like a beacon. "I'm not that hungry now after all," he agreed quickly as they crossed the threshold to her bedroom and the door was closed for the night.

-X-

She was wholly peaceful while she slept. He wasn't sure what had woken him, other than perhaps the lack of real estate. He hadn't slept in a twin bed in a very long time—and he'd certainly never shared one. It was a puzzle-like fit they employed to keep all their limbs contained—his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest, and their legs overlapped in a heap. Her hair clung to his chin, where stubble was emerging and providing a Velcro-type surface on which to catch. Each time he turned his head away from her, silky brown threads trailed in his wake. He shifted again in toward her, his nose buried in her hair and the scent of feminine pheromones filling his nostrils and triggering his lust all over again.

His eyes traced her lips in the dark, and he wondered if she would wake in an agreeable mood to his renewed advances. A quick kiss would give him an answer. Chances were she'd shift and turn away from him, her long hair still attached to his chin. The longer he considered the option, the surer he was that he was not going to fall back to sleep easily with her so intimately wrapped up around him. He traced her chin with two fingers and kissed her softly. She made a noise—a sleepy sigh—but then her leg shifted. Her body began molding back to his and he felt soft pressure against his lips in response.

"Is it morning?" she whispered into his mouth. Her eyes never opened.

"No," he answered in due time as her hand slid down from where it had been resting on his chest.

She moaned softly in response; whether she was upset for the break in her sleep or it was simply a sign of her renewed arousal he would never know. He had far more pressing matters at hand. His hands slid and squeezed, enjoying the soft skin that was pressed all along the length of his body. Most girls tended to slip something on after the initial go-around, but she'd curled up and fallen asleep gloriously bare against him. It was no wonder he found himself unable to sleep in the middle of the night.

Her eyes opened as he entered her. He hovered over her, momentarily unable to move. Her eyes held him in place, though she was wrapped around him in far more literal ways. "Logan."

It was a prompting, a call to action. He needed to stop getting caught up in the details of this girl. He kissed her hard, hoping to override his thoughts and operate on autopilot. His efforts paid off until they'd stilled and he took a moment to lie on top of her without pulling away. She put one hand on his back, over his shoulder blade.

"Are you leaving now?"

She thought he was just having one last go at her before he left in the middle of the night. He couldn't blame her, after all, but the notion stung. It wasn't that he'd never left a girl unwittingly in the wee hours of the morning, to either avoid awkward conversation or to attempt to discourage a repeat performance. But what he'd done in the past didn't seem to come into play with her.

"Do you want me to?"

"No, I just," she said, her breath catching for a moment. "I guess I'm not sure what to expect here."

He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Me either."

She nodded through a telling yawn. "If you're not leaving, I need more sleep. I have a full day tomorrow."

"I can go, if you want," he offered, silently hoping to not have to dress in the dark and leave the warmth of her bed.

She wound an arm lazily around his waist and pulled him in even closer. "Shhh. Sleep."

He mimicked her position, winding his arms around her to minimize their space requirement, but he knew that there were far better reasons for him to leave than what made sense for him to stay. Staying was not logical. His choice came back to what she'd admitted just moments before, and proved that she wasn't the only one that had no idea what to expect from their situation.


	8. We Were Certainly Uncertain

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: We Were Certainly Uncertain

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Rory swiveled halfway around in her office chair, laughing over her fresh mug of coffee. It was well past quitting time and certainly past time to switch to a less stimulating beverage, but both her resistance levels to the caffeine and her late-night plans made it an easy choice to continue to imbibe.

"You didn't say that to Walter Cronkite," she managed as tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I did. In my defense, I was three," Logan said jovially, his arms casually crossed over his chest as he continued to entertain her.

"That also forgives the sitting on his lap part. And the kicking him in the shins as well," she continued to giggle. "It's hard to get work done, when you regale me with tales of your star-studded past."

"Only you would consider Walter Cronkite and Bernard Shaw stars," he teased.

"I don't equate them with popular culture's view of celebrities, but they're incredible influences on our entire country all the same. They shaped our world views, and they were in everyone's homes on a nightly basis, and you've been in theirs."

"I admit my life has had certain advantages. I don't think that every part of the business is cumbersome."

She tossed her hands up to the sky. "He finally admits it!"

He cast her a bemused smirk. "Very funny, Miss Gilmore."

She clasped her hands and brought them up over her heart. "I just think you should keep an appreciation for us little folk, who toil away into the night in this profession without a hope of ever mingling with our idols. We looked up to all the people you thought existed solely to be a fourth for bridge or the fun 'uncle' that never noticed the kids swiping his alcohol."

He stood up and stretched. "It is pretty late. We should get out of here."

She did a quick check of her wristwatch and reacted to the hour, which was later than she'd anticipated. Time always went quickly whenever she was in a newsroom, no matter what the level of publication. She loved every aspect, from editing to writing to what she'd been doing that night, which was research and fact checks. She hadn't even known Logan was still around until a good half hour ago, when he wandered back and began thwarting her productivity. "Yes, we should."

He turned off the light at the switch next to the door and the light from the hallway backlit him. He clearly wasn't in a hurry to go anywhere not matter the hour. "You know, it's not that late."

She ducked her chin slightly and smiled. "What, you're not heading straight to bed?" she asked, knowing full well she was flirting. They'd been good, true to their word, and kept things at bay in the office. It wasn't as easy to quell as she would have thought. It was impossible given his proximity to her now, as he hovered in the door frame a mere six inches from her was as close as he'd been to her on the premises since the night he'd brought pizza over to her room by way of apologizing for the slip in his office.

"If you really want to go to bed, that can be arranged," he assured her, his voice lowering a half an octave and sending shock waves from her stomach in a southerly direction.

Her smiled faltered. "I… can't. Not tonight, anyway."

He paused and his eyes stopped traveling over her curves and refocused on her eyes. "Big plans?"

"Sort of. An old friend is in town and he wanted to meet for drinks and catch up. I haven't seen him in years."

"Old friend," he uttered knowingly. "Sounds like fun."

She opened her mouth, but found herself too confused to respond. She hadn't considered whether the evening would in fact be fun. To be honest, she was a little nervous about seeing said old friend. Their attempts at reconnecting had been tenuous in the past. At least an evening in bed with Logan would leave her sure of where she stood. "Logan," she said softly.

He cringed, pulling back from her attempt to soften the rejection. "Don't. It's no big deal, right? We'll hook up another time."

She nodded, wanting to touch him. It was a show of emotion that didn't fit with the situation. She couldn't leave him with a lingering kiss after blowing off his offer, especially on her way to meet another guy. It didn't matter that in a couple of days' time they could be naked in his shower, giving no thought to work or anyone else. "Yeah. Of course."

He snapped his fingers, as if he'd forgotten something. "I meant to tell you, there's a big party in New York next week. It's the anniversary of the company, so all the subsidiaries are invited, from the bigwigs down to the interns. The more the merrier. They announced it Monday, but you aren't in on Mondays."

"Sounds fun."

"It's the kind of thing you would enjoy," he assured her. "Plenty of people that you'd rather have for a boss when you graduate will be there, my father included."

"Right, your dad," she nodded, a subject that was never easy with Logan. Not only did he have a strained relationship, but there'd been a botched attempt for her to talk to the titular Huntzberger and a near-miss with their tryst and the boss roaming the office. She wasn't certain if the giant had heard anything about her from his son, and what that information would entail.

"You don't have to show. It's not mandatory. Well, for me it is. But if you have other plans," he led in a manner that she didn't have to guess that her refusal stung a little.

"I'm pretty open next week. What night is it?"

"Saturday."

"I'll be there," she promised.

"Great. I'll pass on the information to my secretary, who is my go-between with my mother to keep her updated on our contribution to her headcount."

"If she's anything like my grandmother, she's obsessed with headcounts. And taper-lengths," Rory mused.

He smiled at her curiously. "Do you know my mother?"

Rory laughed. "I don't think so. But I've seen my grandmother plan events for my grandfather's work functions—not that they're anywhere near the scale of this, I'm sure, but she goes all out."

"With my mother, it's just a haze of cigarette smoke and barked orders at caterers and rental managers on the phone, then after she hangs up she snags the first person she can find and grills them about their involvement. She begs people to help her, and then freaks out that they've not done things her way. My sister and I became very adept at avoidance tactics at certain times of the year, depending on her charity volunteer schedule."

Rory listened raptly, as she tended to do whenever he spoke about himself. The instances were rare, but he was becoming slowly unguarded around her. "You have a sister?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Hey, I shouldn't keep you. Have a good evening, Rory."

She was acutely aware that whatever wall he might have lowered had been put right back in place. It was for the best, that much she knew. It didn't make sense for them to delve into personal histories or become dependent on the other. If they were lucky, when all was said and done, they'd part friends with a fondness for a time gone by. They might run into each other at the industry parties that he hated so much, should he remain in the business—or if she was successful in finding a foothold after her internship and graduation. At the moment she fought the urge to ask him if something was wrong, to stay longer though it would mean being late for her previously arranged plans. Even though she'd told Jess that she'd text him when she was on her way back to campus and hadn't solidified anything in stone, Logan's state of mind wasn't a reason for her to stay longer. He was his own man, capable of either finding another outlet for his energy or making his way home on his own accord.

"Goodnight."

She left feeling guilty, as though she owed him more than she'd allowed for. She pulled out her phone and sent a text to the number she'd only had in her phone for less than twelve hours, asking her old friend to meet her at what was to be a crowded pub on campus. Hooking up with more than one guy in a week, while perfectly within her rights, wasn't going to do her any favors.

-X-

He paid no attention as his host stirred his drink and moved to sit it down in front of him. He only looked up when she snapped her fingers in front of his face.

"You do still like scotch, don't you? Please don't tell me you're on the wagon, because it's really not the time to give up vices."

He rolled his eyes at his sister and reached for his drink. "When is it ever? I still like scotch, I was just thinking."

"So you can use that organ that's taking up space in your skull. Plenty of people are going to lose money on that bet," she teased him as any big sister would.

"I have a lot going on."

"So much so that you're here imposing on my night?" she led.

"Did I make you change your plans?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "No. Part of my job as your sister is to be here when you need me. Even when you don't know you need me, but since you showed up here, I figure it's a real cry for help. What's going on?"

"Everything's fine, it's just not… have you spoken with Dad lately?"

Honor tossed her head back and gave a groan. "You two are fighting again?"

"We're not fighting. He has me at the paper in Stamford."

"Yes, a very high profile gig," she joked. "Is that it? You wanted to make a big splash in New York, see your name in lights or go down in flames trying?"

"It's going well. I mean, it was a rocky start and I'm not doing what Dad asked of me at all, but it's going well. I actually sort of like going to work every day."

Honor sat up, her mouth together in prim surprise. "You … enjoy work? It is a newspaper he's put you at, not a brothel or a speakeasy?" she checked.

"It's not the Roaring 20s," he mocked her examples, still coming to grips with his newfound fulfillment in his current role. "Can you just accept what I'm telling you for once and not question my every motive? I'm not to the meat yet."

"There's more? I'm not sure I can take any more surprises, Logan, I mean it. It's like you're a pod person that invaded my brother's body. Next you'll tell me you have a girlfriend and you're adopting a cat together."

He stared into his glass for a beat. "There's this girl."

Her hand flew to her heart. "Oh my God. Wait. You're teasing me. This is your idea of a joke."

He shook his head slowly. "No. We're not serious. We're just, you know," he said with a clearing of his throat.

"Oh, I know. And as your sister, believe me, I wish I didn't know."

He met her eyes sheepishly. "I'm just trying to let you see the whole picture here."

"I prefer the PG-13 version when it comes to your sex life."

"Noted. But at the risk of upsetting your delicate sensibilities yet again," he led, "it was going really well. She's not interested in anything more than I was, and she's smart and funny and forgiving."

Honor arched a brow. "Forgiving?"

He averted his eyes again. "She's seen me when I wasn't at my finest."

"It's a rare glimpse, I'm sure," she said soberly.

"She gets me. And the sex," he said, forgetting her feelings.

"Logan, please," she complained.

"I'm just saying, with most girls it's a distraction. It's momentary. I don't think about it afterward."

"I wouldn't boast about that. It's not one of your finer qualities."

He took a drink. "I keep thinking about her. I keep seeking her out."

"You're like a little lost puppy," she said gleefully.

"Shut up," he groaned.

"You like this girl. How did you meet her?"

He sat back. "That's the thing. She's an intern at the paper."

Honor's eyes widened. "That doesn't sound familiar at all," she said with distaste.

"It's not like that."

"You just said yourself that you're having a sex-only relationship with an intern. How old is she? Please tell me over eighteen."

"She goes to Yale, and when I first met her, it wasn't clear that I was her boss, to her anyhow."

"Where were you?"

He paused. "In the break room at the office."

"Logan."

"I know, okay? It's messed up. I shouldn't care about any of this. I have enough on my plate without worrying about the fact that she's out right now, having drinks with an old friend instead of at my place."

"Finally, something I can work with."

"Don't start trying to give me advice. I didn't come here for that. I came here for this," he said, raising his glass.

"Please. You could have gone to any bar or your own apartment to get soused. You're not drinking to forget, you're drinking to have something to do with your hands. Which, I might add, I prefer than you using my friends for the same end. I am sick of the morning after calls they put in to me, complaining what a lout you are."

"What do I do?"

Honor put a finger to her chin and narrowed her gaze, losing herself in thought. "Has Dad met her?"

He had a hard time hiding his emotions from his sister. She knew within an instant that was a topic he had gotten tangled up in. "He's aware of her, in a tangential manner."

"Meaning?"

"He knows she works there, and he knows I'm screwing her, but they haven't met, even though I'd promised her a meeting with him before we started, well, you know."

"Screwing," she said succinctly.

"I've made a big mess, haven't I?"

She took a stiff drink of her own. "Oh, yeah, little brother. Most definitely."

-X-

Rory looked around the crowded scene, finding exactly what she'd hoped for—a packed house that made intimacy all but impossible. It also made finding her companion far more difficult. She didn't see him at all, until she did. He looked so familiarly out of place with his dark features and his dark clothes, in a sea of colorful, lively co-eds. He appeared to be brooding, but she knew he was simply lost in thought. She stood just inside the entrance watching him for a moment before he caught sight of her as well.

The moment their eyes met, she felt silly for having been so nervous about the meeting. She smiled and made a beeline for his booth. He stood up as she got near. "You came."

She shrugged off her jacket and tossed it into her side of the bench. "Of course I came."

He sat down as she did. "I wouldn't have blamed you for blowing me off."

"I wouldn't do that."

"No, you wouldn't," he agreed. "But still. You're in college and I'm sure there were a million things you could be doing."

"I keep busy. What brings you to New Haven?"

"Tom's Books."

She frowned. "You came to New Haven to go to a bookstore? There aren't enough in New York?"

He smiled. "I moved to Philly a while ago."

She didn't bother to hide her surprise. "I had no idea."

"I'm not known for keeping people apprised of my whereabouts."

"Do you like it there?"

"Philly? Yeah, I mean, it's got all the charm of a big city without the noise and crowding of New York. There's still stuff to do, but I can hear my own thoughts. It's conducive to writing."

Her ears perked up. "You've been writing?"

He nodded and pulled something out of his jacket and tossed it on the table between them. She picked it up with a last glance his direction before inspecting the cover of the book. "This has your name on it."

"I thought about a pen name, but I figured not enough people would read it for my personal privacy to become an issue," he confided.

She couldn't help herself from flipping through past the cover and into the pages. She'd never received a book from him that wasn't inked up and down the margins with his thoughts and observations. This was pristine and unmarred, as all his thoughts and observations were the contents of each page, not afterthoughts. "You wrote a book."

"I figured you wouldn't believe it unless I handed you proof. Turns out if you don't have an agent, the shops are more inclined to sell your books when you bring them stock and beg them, so that's what I'm doing here. But I knew you were here and it felt weird to come here and not at least tell you."

"This is amazing. Can I keep this?"

He nodded. "It's all yours. Just try not to resist the urge to send it back to me full of red marks. I can't even look at it anymore, it drives me crazy."

She smiled. "You would say that. I bet it's great."

"It's passable at best."

"I want to read it now!" she exclaimed, giddy like a child with a Christmas present.

He cringed. "Have a drink first, at least. It'll help."

She shook her head at him. "This is the best surprise. I have to admit, I was curious about what it would be like to see you again, what you might have been up to."

"So, what about you? Has Yale lived up to your Ivy League expectations?"

"And then some," she said agreeably. "I'm on the paper, and I won an internship at a paper in Stamford. I just came from there, actually."

"It all seems to suit you. You seem happy."

She smiled. "I am. I mean, life's not a cakewalk. I live with Paris."

His face was wiped of emotion. "No."

She laughed. "She showed up in my dorm room freshmen year and I haven't been able to shake her since."

"You're cursed," he teased her.

"I may be," she nodded, staring down at his book. "I barely have time to write articles. Sometimes I feel like I'm constantly running from class to Stamford and back."

"If you're an intern why are you putting in such late hours? Aren't you just making coffee and keeping the printer full of paper?"

"I do more than that," she defended.

"Hey, I didn't mean to offend you," he said, lowering his tone and reaching his hand out to meet hers. The side of his hand bumped hers lightly and remained there as she found her sanity.

"No, it's okay. I'm just tired and I think I had a fight with my boss earlier."

He drew his hand back and it fell back in his lap. "I can't picture you fighting with your boss."

"He's not a normal boss. He's our age," she explained.

"A prodigy?" he guessed.

"A couple of years older, but mentally still a freshman sometimes."

He nodded with understanding. "So what did you argue about?"

"We didn't. We just misunderstood each other. I left feeling like I'd disappointed him."

"I'm sure you'll clear it up the next time you see him," he offered genuinely, listening to her woes as if he were a real old friend, as opposed to an ex-boyfriend that had popped up suddenly in her life. She knew that Logan had made the leap to guess she was meeting an old boyfriend. If that had been the reason he'd closed himself off, it seemed out of character. Jealousy did not lend itself to their carefree attachment. She operated under the assumption that he was seeing other women in addition to her. She might have a certain appeal, given the fact she was a novelty to his life.

"Yeah. I just hate leaving things like that, you know?" she asked, not really needing an answer.

"You could call him."

She met Jess' eyes across the table. "Is jealousy a normal male reaction?"

He gave a sardonic chuckle. "It's a normal human reaction. Why?"

"I've never really understood it. I mean, if people are in agreement or share a trust, then why can't that be enough?"

"Because people aren't perfect. They're insecure and needy and they just want someone else to make them feel like the whole world isn't out to get them."

"Even though it is?" she guessed.

He grinned. "In my experience."

"It's good to see you, Jess."

He tapped a thumb on the table. "Can I ask you a question?"

She knew what was coming. He could always read her, even when she didn't want him to. "Sure."

"Was all that related; the jealousy thing and the issue with your boss? What was the misunderstanding?"

She hesitated. "I mentioned I was meeting someone tonight, and he assumed that I was meeting an ex-boyfriend."

He smiled, being the ex-boyfriend in question. "Aren't you?"

"Yes, but not what he thought we were meeting for."

Jess leaned on his elbows across the table. "What does he think we're meeting for?"

She gave him a pleading look. "That we… you know how some couples have rebound … issues?"

"Rory," he began carefully. "Those kinds of couples usually had sex prior to breaking up."

Her cheeks stained pink. "Oh. Right."

"Besides, you and I have had our own unique rebound… issues," he said, pulling from her lexicon.

"That's just because the way things ended, it was so unfinished. We just needed a better ending, didn't we?"

"We did. Or maybe we just needed time to get to a new place."

"A place where you give me the book you wrote?"

He nodded. "It's better than where we were three years ago."

"It is. It's nice to talk to you again. I didn't mean to drag you into my murky relationship with my boss. I'm sure I was exaggerating things."

"You're a pretty good judge of character. You do tend to err on seeing more good in people than I tend to think exists, but overall, you're usually pretty dead on."

"Thanks," she laughed. "I think."

-X-

He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket and stared at the number lit up on the display. The timing was impeccable, but he didn't want to seem to be in a hurry to answer. After three rings he finally accepted the incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Logan, hi. I'm sorry it's so late. Is it too late?"

He smiled. It was the first time she'd sought him out. She obviously wasn't used to asking for company at such a late hour. It was endearing, in a naïve sort of way. "Now's fine. What's up?"

He wasn't going to make it that easy for her. After all, why should he?

"I was just thinking about you and wondering if you still wanted to get together."

He'd done nothing but think or talk about her since they'd parted ways at the office. That in and of itself should have been enough reason to tell her that he was tired or he simply wasn't interested. But what he really wasn't interested in was another lecture from his sister. "I'm on my way home. Do you need me to pick you up on my way?"

"Uh, sure. I'm off campus, on Third just off of University Ave."

"I can be there in a few minutes."

He'd already turned his car back toward New Haven, before she got up her courage. It was small details that he was glad she wasn't privy to. It would make putting up defenses against her far harder, if she could just see right through his efforts. No matter what his sister said, he wasn't ready for more than these late-night calls and bouts of companionship. So what if he preferred her company more than other girls at the moment? Was it a crime to enjoy pillow talk? If so, it would just have to be added to the list of things he'd been rightfully accused of in his life.

By the time he slowed the car near her form on the sidewalk, he had achieved an even state of mind. This was a strictly sexual encounter. His reaction to her silhouette was confirmation of the fact that he would have agreed to pick her up off the street even if he didn't know her name. She was a combination of curves and lean lines that would mold to his body to dole out pleasures untold. It didn't matter if she called him because she was lonely or horny or sorry. It mattered that for whatever reason, she wanted to be in his bed until sunrise. That was enough.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said as she opened the passenger side car door.

"I hope you didn't go too far out of your way," she said as she settled in for the drive.

"Don't worry about it. Did you have a good evening?"

She held up a book. "I did."

"You went shopping?"

"No. My friend that I mentioned? He wrote a book since I saw him last."

"Must have been a while since you'd seen him."

"Long enough," she agreed simply. "He was my boyfriend, a long time ago."

He tightened his grip on the wheel. "Yeah?" he asked tightly, trying not to encourage further detail from her.

"Yeah. We're friends now, but I feel like I was purposely concealing our past, earlier when I talked to you about it."

He wanted to tell her he'd guessed as much before and that she needed to work on her subterfuge, but instead he kept his thoughts to himself and his eyes on the road. "There's no need for that."

"No, I know. I just wanted to be clear."

"You don't need to explain yourself to me. I mean, we're not exclusive. It's not my business when you see other guys. As long as you want to be with me, then I'm okay with us."

She was quiet for a minute. "What if I was seeing him… or anyone, really, and it got serious?"

"That's up to you. If you choose to stop seeing me because of a change in your life, or choose to keep seeing me despite it, it's your decision."

She appeared startled at the connotation. "Wouldn't you stop seeing me if you suddenly found yourself in a committed relationship with someone else?"

"No, because that won't happen. I told you, I don't do relationships. I never have."

"I know, but everyone falls in love sooner or later," she reasoned.

He felt a strange tightening in his chest. He wrote it off as his body's response to the long hours he kept and his relatively fast living. "Were you in love with this old boyfriend?"

He half expected her to lie to him. More than half of him wished she would. "Yes. I mean, I was at the time."

"That's exactly my point. Love is fleeting, it doesn't last forever. I'd much rather enjoy what's in the moment, right in front of me than worry about what might happen next week or next year."

"You've really never been in love?" she asked, unable to grasp the concept.

He sighed. "I thought I was clear when we started this."

She held up her hand. "I'm not saying I want you to fall in love with me. I just think it's sad that you don't want it at all, ever."

"Just because it's right for you doesn't mean it's right for everyone else. There's nothing wrong with wanting to get married and have kids and that whole deal," he said, trying to extend his laidback, live-and-let-live attitude in an effort to get past the talking and on with the not-talking. He wondered if it was some kind of karmic load he was balancing that after focusing on wanting to be with her all evening, now that she was there he still wasn't getting what he wanted.

"I agree. I never want to get married, either."

He stared at her in disbelief. "You just said you wanted to be in love."

"No, I said I've been in love. I expect to fall in love again someday, probably more than once. But that doesn't mean I expect to get married."

"That's a very realistic mindset," he praised her.

"I wish I could say the same for you," she retorted, though her words weren't biting.

"We're not so different, you and me. If you'd never been in love with that guy, whatever his name is, would you be so sure it would happen to you again?"

"His name is Jess. And yes, I think I would."

He was fairly sure that there was no way she could know that for sure. Hindsight was hard to shake. "What makes you so sure?"

"Because I've been in love more than once."

"Do you fall in love that easily?" he cried, put off by her honest yet surprising answer.

"Look, it's not that big a deal. I just think that there's a big difference in being okay with either outcome and closing yourself off. You're a great guy. You deserve to be happy, whatever that looks like."

He pulled her in swiftly, taking her by surprise. "You want to see me happy?"

She smiled at him, amused at his segue. "Of course."

"Good," he said, barely getting the word out before he kissed her. He was tired of talking and tired of feeling like he was talking himself out of something. She was there, in his arms, in his apartment. He didn't need her to love him or want any more than what was happening in the moment. She was able-bodied, willing, and if was being completely honest, she made him happy.

-X-

His lips pressed into her shoulder, coaxing her out of deep sleep but not yet to full waking. She was turned away from him, in his bed, with his sheet wrapped around her chest and under her arm. She relished the state of drowsiness mixed with the physical contact he provided. Her body ached for extra rest. They'd stayed up way too late involved in extremely aerobic activities using only his mattress and each other for support.

"I have to get to work."

She stirred properly at the sound of his voice, turning just far enough to look at him over her shoulder. "Oh. Right. I'll get up."

He pressed a hand on her hip, keeping her reclined. "No, stay put. Take your time. There are fresh towels in the bathroom and the fridge is full when you're hungry. I just didn't want you to wake up alone without an explanation."

She blinked sleep from her eyes. "I can't stay here alone, at your apartment. I'll just grab my stuff, it'll take a second."

"I insist. Stay and rest. I happen to know you're exhausted," he said with a mischievous grin.

"Guilty," she said as she relaxed back into the covers. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. And since you don't have your car, I'll leave the number for my car service on the front table."

It took her a minute to ingest the information involved in that offer. "You have a car service?"

He nodded. "Yeah, they're on-call twenty-four hours a day. Whenever you're ready, just call the number."

She was always amazed at the simple ways he was able to highlight the differences in their lives. Everything that he was used to, his so-called creature comforts, were luxury items she couldn't imagine having access to. "I can just call a cab."

"That's crazy. A cab will cost you a ton of money, just to get back to New Haven from here. The car service is already paid for."

"But not by me."

"You'd have your car if I hadn't picked you up. Consider it me giving you a ride home, it's practically the same thing."

"It's not the same thing. Is there a nearby bus line?" she inquired.

He stared down at her as he continued to lie next to her, his head propped up on one elbow and his other arm still on her waist. "Not the bus discussion again. Why won't you just use the car service? Is it impossible for you to accept things from people? Did you force your ex to let you pay for the book he wrote?"

"That's completely different," she dismissed his attempt at an argument.

"Why, because you were in love with him?"

His words stung. She was pretty sure that had been his intent, given his thoughts on the matter and his biting tone. He must view her as a silly girl that allowed such foolish emotions like love to cloud her judgment. "A book is not that same as a car and driver."

"Then I guess I need a list of acceptable gifts, other than books and sexual favors," he said, snapping at her out of frustration.

She hadn't meant to start an argument, but she wasn't about to back away from one either. "That's not fair!"

"Isn't it?" he asked, clearly still peeved. He tossed back his side of the covers and exited the bed. "You know what, leave whenever you want and go home however you want. It makes no difference to me."

She lay in bed in shock as she watched him shut the bathroom door, no longer comfortable and near falling back to sleep. Her whole body was agitated, from her racing mind to the muscles in her legs twitching. She thought about getting up and following him into the bathroom to yell at him, but she wasn't sure what else to say. She'd offended him without meaning to, but he had been callous in return very much on purpose. She sat up in bed, keeping the sheet wrapped around her torso as she waited for him to come back out into the bedroom. She sat there like that for a good quarter of an hour that in his bed, mulling over her words.

He opened the door to reveal lingering shower steam and a towel wrapped around his waist for the bare minimum of modesty. She couldn't help but take a long look at the sight of him. It wasn't hard to figure out why she chose to keep engaging with him, without hope of a commitment and despite their penchant for arguing. He was a fine specimen of the male form. Currently his hair was damp and there was a hardness to his brown eyes that made him appear guarded—neither detracted from his appeal.

"I'm sorry."

He gave a slight turn of his head. "It's okay. You don't need anything from me. I get that. I respect that, I really do."

"You do?" she asked. She hadn't been prepared for him to back down, let alone see things from her point of view.

He nodded. "I need you to understand that it's hard for me not to offer you things."

She shook her head, flummoxed. "Why?"

"Part of it is that it's my nature to share my wealth, especially with those around me. The other part of it is that you're not expecting anything from me, and that's incredibly refreshing and seems to make my prompts far more frequent."

"And I'm not turning down your offers because I don't want anything from you," she said quietly. "Fending for myself is deeply ingrained in who I am. I'm not used to this kind of stuff. You live in a penthouse, for crying out loud. I live in a shoe box in comparison, and I'm in one of the nicer dorms on campus."

"Where you live has no bearing on why I like being with you," he expressed adamantly.

"I'm glad. I don't care where you live either, I just want you to realize that I don't see our relationship as a way to get you to do things for me. Being with you is enough for me."

He crawled back under the covers, pulling his towel from his body and tossing it on the floor as he did so. She slid down to adjust to his new position. "What are you doing?" she asked, though his advancing form left little room for misinterpretation.

"I'm making myself late for work," he informed her as he coaxed her into sinking down into his very comfortable mattress.

-X-

He sat in a coffee shop near his office, having called to check in to make sure his extended absence that morning wasn't affecting any deadlines. He needed time alone, time to think. He was uneasy with his reactions to the last twenty-four hours of his life. Something had shifted, something he thought would fade into the background given enough time. He thought that getting Rory out of his system would help, but getting her into his bed had only made the feeling more intense. Having her turn down his initial offer in lieu of going out with another guy had been a far worse circumstance than he'd imagined.

He was left wondering if his sister had been right, if he was finally getting a glimpse of wanting more than just sex out of a relationship. It was foreign and unsettling to say the least, if that's what the root cause of his current state turned out to be.

All the usual roadblocks to engaging in a committed relationship remained. He couldn't bring a girl home, not one he actually liked, without the threat of having her taken to task by his family members. Any girl that he brought home, as the heir apparent of the family business, would be treated as his potential wife. Wives inherited a sizable fortune along with his cumbersome last name, and therefore background checks and lawyers would be consulted in order to make a decision about true compatibility. Marriage to him was a twisted kind of transaction, as were most aspects of his life, with his personal desires not entering into the equation.

Honor had been quick to point out that it could be different, having someone at his side that was a contender to not just inherit the money but to be a contributor to the empire. A future journalist was a wholly different animal to bring home than a future trophy wife.

The other main difference, it hit him suddenly, was that she was the first girl that not only told him she didn't want anything more than a sexual relationship with him, but seemed to firmly believe it past using the line to gain entrance to his bed. Lots of girls had said a host of things that they knew he wanted to hear, hoping for an in. Every woman he'd ever met had bought into the ability to change men, given regular sex and time. It was why he was so adamant, so unusually blunt on the topic. He just wanted to have a good time, and having a string of women be pissed at him really cut into the good times. It never occurred to him that it could backfire in such a way, to find a woman whose desires aligned with his so strongly.

He was confusing compatibility with emotion. It was also entirely possible that his pride was slightly wounded by a woman who wasn't harboring the kind of desire for him that he was used to. He wasn't one to brag about his sexual conquests, but his skill often translated to women confusing his prowess with deeper feelings. More than one woman had asked him how he could be so good in bed if he wasn't falling in love with her. He saw no correlation, as he'd always been instructed that practice made perfect.

He'd keep things in context and check his pride at the door. All that was required was an attitude adjustment on his part. The alternative was to seek out a committed relationship with her, and he had nothing to back up his ability to either navigate or sustain such an undertaking and he wasn't ready to watch her walk out of his life yet.

-X-

Rory had showered alone, in the empty apartment full of items she imagined a bachelor who wasn't on a budget would own. There were two shower heads, designer body wash and a built-in fog-free mirror in the shower alone. It wasn't difficult to locate any of her post-shower needs in his large master bath. She found Q-tips and floss, and even a spare toothbrush in a drawer full of like utensils, all still in individual packages. There were constant reminders that she wasn't the first woman he opened his home to. He was clearly used to guests being there in the morning after sharing his bed. She finished in the bathroom and went to put on her clothes she'd worn the day before. They were only mildly wrinkled, but more importantly her only option. One thing he didn't provide for was a full wardrobe. All the clothes in his closet were clearly his and his alone. He was an idiot if he expected any girl to be alone in his apartment and not snoop a little. She had no interest in stealing anything, save for the Q-tip and toothbrush. She knew so little about him, and found small clues to his interests as she gave his closet a once-over. He had basketball shoes and a whole stash of mesh shorts that clued her into the fact that he didn't always wear suits and was sporty in some regard. Her search remained cursory, deciding that doors were okay to open for inspection, but respecting the privacy of drawers. Learning a little more about him seemed appropriate, but there was a line she wouldn't cross with the knowledge that she couldn't erase the memories of whatever she uncovered. Finding out too much could put their arrangement in jeopardy and at times it already seemed a tenuous connection.

She'd made her way into the kitchen at the prompting of her grumbling stomach and his promise of finding food therein. He had none of her staples, save for one cereal with sugar as the third ingredient, so she opted for that and found a bowl in his cabinets.

It didn't register at first that there was a key turning in the lock. She heard the noise, but attributed it to him returning home. He could have thought better of leaving her alone in his house, he could have forgotten his phone, or he could be a sex addict that explained his need for the amount of sex he engaged in with her and others. Honestly she couldn't imagine having more sex than they already had. The last ten hours had left her slightly sore and in need of rest and probably a few Kegel exercises to gear up for next time. That's what she was thinking about, with a spoon half to her mouth full of cereal and milk, when a blonde woman walked purposefully in from the other room and put her designer purse down on the counter.

"Hello."

Rory put her spoon back in the bowl. "Um, hello."

The blonde woman smiled. "Is Logan here?"

Her mind snapped back to his comments about it being her choice to break things off or not, should she enter into a serious relationship. It shocked her, none more than being faced with the reality of a woman with a key to his place showing up while she was less than an hour post-coital with him and eating cereal in his kitchen. She wasn't sure who she felt worse for, herself or this other woman, to be put in this position by a man who felt no shame in keeping so many women in play that they overlapped in that manner. It was one thing to know he was seeing other people, it was altogether different to have to see it for herself.

"Uh, no. He went to work."

The blonde smiled again. "Are you Rory?"

Rory remained uneasy talking to this woman. Her counterpart didn't seem upset or even remotely surprised to find a strange woman in Logan's apartment, and Rory found it even odder that she knew her name. "I am."

"So, he did call you last night?"

Rory shifted her weight and studied the contents of her bowl. "No, actually, I called him."

The other woman sighed, put out by some unknown factor. "Men never listen."

"I'm sorry, did you have plans with him last night? He said he was free," Rory explained, not wanting to gain a line of catty enemies. From the looks of his toothbrush drawer, it could be a long line if she kept monopolizing his evenings.

"I should introduce myself. I'm sorry, I tend to jump right into things. I'm Honor Huntzberger."

Rory watched as the woman extended her hand out. She took it and gave it a brief shake.

"Logan's sister," Honor clarified.

"Oh, right. He said he had a sister," Rory said, tying in the information.

"It's nice to know he admits it publicly of his own free will," Honor said with a sugary smile. "My brother has a short attention span."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Rory nodded in agreement, but felt only the urge to flee. "So, I should probably get going."

Honor sat down at a bar stool on the opposite side of the counter. "Do you need to be somewhere? I was hoping we might have coffee and a chat."

Rory frowned furtively. "You came here to have coffee with me?"

"No, actually I came to harass my brother by checking up on him, but as he's suddenly developed a work ethic, that is harder and harder to do. I felt like I wasn't really getting through to him last night, and I figured I'd try again. But now that you're here, I thought we could have some girl talk."

"I should really go. I mean, he told me to stay as long as I wanted, but I'm pretty sure he didn't anticipate this scenario."

"Which is all the more reason you should stay and talk to me. I know everything about him. I'm the resident expert on all the embarrassing details of his life. I'm privy to all his inner turmoil and exasperating habits. Unless you really have no interest in finding out more about him?" Honor asked curiously.

Rory sat down on a bar stool. "He's told me some things."

"Let me guess, stories about famous people, where he comes off as a little scamp, but nothing that give you any insight into who he is."

Rory nodded, surprised by her refreshing candor. "That sums it up."

"Logan has trust issues. Our parents did their best to screw us up as completely as possible. I'm very well adjusted and managed to sidestep most of the mental scarring, but Logan was targeted far more directly. He's the heir apparent, you know."

Rory cleared her throat. "I don't think he could hide that burden if he tried."

"He's worked very hard to keep their expectations as low as possible. Unfortunately my father is a very determined man and my mother has learned to overlook a whole host of sins on such a regular basis that she might as well be blind. It's not a particularly good combination to be raised with."

"I can imagine. But I don't see why you're telling me all this. I like Logan, but he and I aren't… I mean, we're not dating."

Honor arched a brow. "I know. He doesn't do that. He told me about a million different ways last night, even though he's never had a girlfriend and I would have never assumed he was likely to find one. Have you ever heard the term 'overcompensation'?"

Rory nodded with the hint of a grin. "Of course."

"He was full into it last night. He was cagey and bothered. He barely touched his scotch. I've never seen him like that. He finally admitted that some girl had rebuffed him in favor of another guy."

Rory was incensed. "It wasn't a date! I just had plans with a friend."

Honor shook her head. "It doesn't matter, it's all about his perception anyhow. Logan had an epiphany last night, not that he'd admit it, but it happened all the same. And that realization has unnerved him."

"And what's that?"

"He likes you, and he doesn't like the idea of you being with another guy. He just doesn't know quite how to reconcile putting his foot down with his regular MO."

Rory scoffed. "That's ridiculous. We're just… we're not going to date. Neither of us wants that. He's probably just used to getting his own way, and I prevented that. The only feeling I hurt in him last night was his pride."

"Oh, that's completely true. Logan's been catered to his whole life. It's amazing he can dress himself and make a whole day without someone telling him how special he is, but trust me on this."

"Listen, I'm sure that as his sister you want what's best for him, but I assure you, a relationship with me is not it. I'm happy to spend time with him, and he and I get along really well, but I'm awful at relationships. Even if he's great at them, which is doubtful as he's never had one, it would be doomed before it even began."

Honor smiled knowingly. "But if he asked you out, on a real date, would you go?"

"What? No! I mean, I don't know. It's something I have never prepared for in my mind, like a zombie apocalypse. I mean, yeah, sure, it could happen, but I feel safe in saying it's not something I'll ever have to deal with."

"Dating my brother would be like surviving a zombie apocalypse? Where did he find you? I adore you."

Rory laughed. "You're really nice, and I like your brother, but trust me, he doesn't feel that way about me. I know my credibility is low as I woke up in his apartment and I'm here alone mid-morning, but we're just a passing thing."

Honor was more than a little disappointed. "You're sure?"

Rory nodded firmly. "Totally."

"That's a shame. My brother needs someone to keep him in line and as the only person whose calls he'll take on a regular basis, I have to tell you it's exhausting. It would have been nice to have a little back up."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

Honor shrugged. "We could still go get coffee. We don't have to talk about Logan. There are so many other more fascinating topics in the world. Do you like shoe shopping? I know the best place, not far from here."

Rory smiled and stood to put her bowl in the sink. "I'm all yours."

Honor clapped her hands together happily. "Yay!"


	9. We Were Begging for the Past

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: We Were Begging for the Past

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

She arrived alone to a crowd of overwhelming numbers. She was under the impression that she would be accompanied for the rest of the evening once she made her entrance, even though any mention of the party had been vague and generalized at best. She'd assumed Logan's lack of details had come from the fact that a company party wasn't his first choice of location for an evening out. If she'd learned anything about him, it was that even just two hours at a party praising his father and his empire was pretty much Logan Huntzberger's least favorite activity, under possibly even an exploratory colonoscopy or a painful root canal.

Rory found that she was excited about the evening, not only because of the big names she would be eating appetizers with, but because she knew that a large part of her role that night would be as Logan's distraction. It was a spectacular end to any evening, but his frustrations would kick things up a level. He'd been less chatty and highly sexed of late, pushing her limits as to how much sleep she needed. She hadn't mentioned her afternoon with his sister, or the couple of emails she and Honor had exchanged since. It was Honor that had firmed up the details of the party for her, saying she'd see her there. Logan had mumbled a similar echo, while still sweaty in her bed before he slipped away while she slept the night before.

Even in his state of distraction, her dress was something he'd notice. There was no back to speak of, a contrast to the relatively conservative cut of the front. He'd be happy to see her approach, but the moment her back was turned he'd start to plan their early departure. If she knew anything about him, she knew that.

The party was in New York and the view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was worth far more than a million dollars. It was clear from even the smallest details that no expense had been spared. She took her time wandering around, purposefully not seeking him out, just so she could revel in the space for a little while so she'd be ready to leave at a moment's notice.

"Rory, there you are, perfect!"

Honor Huntzberger was hurrying her way in high heels, dragging along a timid-looking man just a few years her senior. He seemed agreeable to following the outspoken woman's lead, and had no desire to wander off on his own as Rory had been doing.

"This is Josh," she introduced her boyfriend, eliciting a knowing nod and warm welcoming smile on Rory's part. Honor had covered a host of topics during their time together, including a dip into her own personal life. Rory had realized it was an effort to make Rory feel comfortable divulging her own innermost thoughts, but it came off as sincere and forthcoming.

"Nice to meet you. It's a great party, isn't it?" she asked gleefully.

Josh didn't seem too sure of that fact, but Honor nodded dutifully. "Mom did a great job. Of course, all she'll do is complain that no one appreciated all her work."

"We all have to play to our strengths," Josh smiled, despite his discomfort.

Rory did her best to hide her smile, but Honor laughed. "That's right, which is why you're going to get these two beautiful ladies some champagne."

"Yes, dear," he said without any intonation, making a beeline for the bar. It was clear this wasn't Josh's first Huntzberger party.

"Josh doesn't like these things, does he?"

"Josh doesn't like having to deal with my family. It's tiring, mostly because he grew up in a normal family with normal expectations. His father wears those strange Christmas sweaters without irony and his mother matches her purse to her handbags and neither of them drinks more than a glass of wine with dinner a couple times a week. This requires far more energy than one of his parents' get-togethers."

"So opposites really do attract," Rory noted.

"Normal can be a nice break sometimes. Not all the time—I need a little drama to survive. Thank God for reality television," she added. "So, where is my brother?"

Rory shrugged easily, not in the least concerned about his late arrival. "We're meeting here."

"He is such a creep. I know he thinks he's trying to be a modern guy, but it's not charming at all."

Rory chuckled and waved away the negative connotation. "It's fine, it made more sense this way. I had a late class and he had work. We were coming from two different directions."

"Opposites do attract," Honor say with a coy smile as Josh returned with their champagne. Rory took a sip and watched as Honor's face changed from carefree and happy to hard and annoyed. "Oh, crap."

Rory turned to look in the direction of the entrance, where Honor's gaze was fixed. She stood staring for so long that she knew her surprise was real, a mix of horror and heartbreak. If she'd been able to glance away, she would have been able to play off her feelings as nothing. As it was, she took her time in registering the sight and letting the reality hit her as hard as it could. She'd heard it could be healthy, but in this regard it felt just the opposite.

"I am so sorry. I'm going to talk to him right now," Honor said, at her side and in her defense.

Rory turned to her would-be protector. "No, don't… it's fine. I told you, we're not even really dating."

"He's been with you almost every night this week, hasn't he? When did he even have time to make another date?" Honor asked, speaking seemingly right out of Rory's own thoughts.

"It really doesn't matter."

Honor stopped and listened to Rory. She searched her eyes for any hint of hurt. "Are you sure? I'm happy to take him down a notch or two. It's even more satisfying when it's in public."

Rory gave her best, most convincing smile. "I'm sure. It's better, even. I mean, you're right, we were together a lot this week and I could use a break. You should go say hi; I'm going to hit the ladies room."

Honor accepted Rory's need to flee, and before she knew it she found herself in a very fancy lounge, complete with two chaises and a very long line of lit mirrors. She was sure if she went back far enough there would be sinks and stalls, but her main goal was to calm her nerves. Something had sparked inside of her when she saw that woman on his arm. His escort's dress had left nothing at all to the imagination, a perfect preview of what she'd be willing to offer him. Her blonde hair was smooth as spun silk and everything about her screamed of money and availability. Rory would have felt better if her eyes had been a little more vacant—if she had anything going for her at all, it was her intelligence that made her stand out in Logan's estimation. The thought that she could be replaced so easily did not sit well with her at all.

Her salvation came to her as a passing thought, a memory from the recent past, a snippet of conversation that hadn't meant anything to her at the time. Jess had mentioned that he'd be in New York that weekend, carrying copies of his book from store to store and giving an interview to a free weekly in hopes of selling even a few copies of his book. He could have already fled on a train back to Philly by now, and even if he hadn't it didn't mean he was free on a moment's notice anyhow. But it didn't stop her from pulling her cell phone out and calling him without another thought.

Their conversation was brief, but relief shot through her as he changed the course of his evening for her. It was only after she'd hung up and began considering herself in the mirror that she realized that she'd done her best to level the playing field. The problem was that this was exactly the kind of game she didn't want to be playing.

-X-

Honor was icy to his date, but it wasn't unusual behavior on her part. She treated them all the same, given her propensity to choose topics that made even highly educated women feel stupid, most likely in effort to make him see that they were not going to interest him come sun-up. If he wanted to give a damn about what happened as far away as the next day's dawn, then he'd start to concern himself. As it was, he planned to drink a lot, enjoy what the woman did have to offer, and be in a cab before the first streaky rays of light graced the sky.

He didn't ask his sister why she was shooting him daggers with her eyes as they made polite introductions. Josh seemed as ever on edge, but all these things Logan chocked up to them having had a run-in with either of his parents. Both would be in attendance, both acting as circling satellites, pretending they were too important to get a chance to enjoy the party together—as if they'd want to spend an evening alone.

He announced he'd fetch a drink for himself and his date, only to watch as Honor downed her glass and proclaimed her need to accompany him to get a refill instead of her usual demand that Josh be her faithful servant.

"What's got you so tightly wound?" he asked as they nodded and smiled their way through the crowd

"You're an ass," she seethed as she smiled at one of her mother's friends across the way.

"Ah, an old classic," he mused cheerfully.

She stopped and turned to him on her heel. "You know what? I'm not going to help you with this one. Make a big mess of things if you want, but do not come to me, asking for help or guidance or whatever it is you think you need when this night is through."

He stood in a state of bewilderment, watching his sister stalk away. He'd order a double, he decided, and keep them coming. It was going to be that kind of night.

The good and bad news was that he was halfway done with his second glass, talking to a magazine contributor that had come up with his father and was relaying a story about the two of them fudging a deadline in college and nodding along without listening to all the relevant details when he saw her. Her back was to him, but he didn't need to see all of her to recognize her and feel her draw. He could have picked her out, even when surrounded with every other person on the planet. The entirety of her back was exposed to him and everyone else, the lithe lines of her torso curving in toward her hips calling to him like a siren song. She was leaning forward, reaching out for a man who was just arriving. Her hands gripped this man like a life preserver in a storm. He kissed her cheek quickly, out of familiarity. It made his stomach hurt and his eyes burn—in that moment all he wanted was to step out with for fresh air. If he was going to be honest, he would prefer to have her at his side, and all these other people would simply fade away. But that was going to have to wait a little while.

There was laughter in a half circle around him, the only clue he had that the story he was supposed to be listening to had ended. He excused himself, leaving his date standing in a sea of strangers. Rory turned to face the crowd with this other man. Her date. He was dark and handsome in the way that women always seemed to swoon over. The guy looked like he'd seen enough trouble in his life to excite the feminine persuasion and make them sympathetic to his plight. He was dressed simply, toeing the line of being young enough to pull off fashionable indifference. He wore dark jeans, a solid color shirt, and a jacket. Simple, if not just effective enough. Logan wanted to have him escorted off premises, but instead he approached the woman he's spent the better part of the last night pleasuring with a smug smile.

"You made it," he said to her and her alone. He would acknowledge the other guy if he had to, but he'd make her do the introductions. How would she introduce her date to the guy she was sleeping with? As her boss, her friend, her what?

"I may not be an integral cog to this empire, but I wasn't going to turn down a chance to see the glitzier side of the business," she said, reminding him that she was still able to see the glamour of such events. She could skim over the surface of most of these people, as she wasn't mired in their underbellies. She was mired in his, but only as much as he'd let her. He was the one bringing her down—he should go easy on her for bringing a date. He'd brought one, after all, knowing she'd be here—hoping to get her to see him for what he really was. His stomach was in knots at the knowledge that he was getting just what he'd wanted.

"If not for you, our office would be a disorganized mess, it not wholly defunct, so you can take some comfort in that," he complimented her, lowering his eyes to the way this guy had his hand at the small of her back. It was skin-on-skin contact that he himself had felt less than twenty-four hours before. Images of her over him as he slid his hands up her body in the dark confines of her room last night kept piercing his conscious mind.

"He's being overly kind. This is my boss, Logan Huntzberger," she said, turning her attention to her date.

"Ah, right," the other man said, in that smug way that practically shouted that she'd shared some sort of confidence with him in regards to their relationship. Had she told him that they were sleeping together or had she just complained about him? He wanted answers from her, but they were questions he wasn't ready to ask. "Nice to meet you."

It wasn't nice, none of it was nice, and they all knew it. This guy didn't want to see him, and he certainly didn't want to chat with her date. "Likewise. Feel free to take advantage of the bar. It's open until they run out, but that's a distinct possibility in this crowd."

Her date raised an eyebrow, probably wondering just how soused he was, but turned in to ask Rory if she wanted anything. He spoke quietly, in her ear, making Logan churn. She asked for a club soda and they watched him leave to fill the order before either spoke. He took the opportunity to come in closer to her.

"I didn't realize you were bringing a date," he said, not bothering to take the edge out of his voice.

She stared at him in disbelief, her inner rage eerily similar to his sister's. "I could say the same to you."

It was only then that he realized he'd left his date somewhere behind him, probably trapped listening to stories about his father, whom she couldn't pick out of a line-up. Her only mental connection to his last name was the fact that it came with money. She certainly didn't care from what industry the money had sprung.

"And yet you brought someone else," he summarized.

"Yes, well, I didn't feel like coming alone, and we are dating other people. That's what we agreed to, right?" she asked in a haughty tone. He might be more used to this kind of interlude, coming face-to-face with such indelicate situations, but that didn't mean she wasn't doing her best to appear indifferent out of spite.

"I couldn't bring you to this," he said haltingly, his eyes darting around the room to see just who might be paying attention to them while they were doing their best not to make a scene. He could feel a fight chasing his blood through his veins. If it's what she wanted, he feared it would happen. He could feel his self-control at an all-time low.

She stared at him as if he'd just suggested they eat off the floor. "Do you think I sit around, hoping you'll call? I'm here because I was invited to a work function, not for you. I can see you whenever I want, and then some apparently."

Her words were cool, too cold for his taste, and they felt like a slap to his cheek. "That's not what I meant at all. I was just trying to explain myself."

"I don't need an explanation. I have eyes, Logan, and now if you're done with your explanation, my date is coming back with my drink."

He tensed, wanting to say something to her, anything that would ease the tensions between them. Instead, he got exactly what he'd asked for, and watched as her eyes lit up at the other man's approach. She was done with him for the moment, and his place was elsewhere.

-X-

"So, that's your boss," Jess said with a knowing smirk after he handed her a cocktail. She might have known he would have brought her something more fortifying than her non-alcoholic order, but she didn't argue as it smelled vaguely fruity and her ire was up over Logan. She was pleasantly surprised at her first sip with how much she enjoyed it.

She winced at having pulled him into the situation. "That's him."

"Let me guess… you had another misunderstanding."

"I won't blame you for taking off. I had no right to drag you into this."

He lifted his glass. "It's worth the free booze to stay a little while longer. I was just going to watch some awful movie on cable and go to bed early. You may have saved my night."

She laughed a little. "I sincerely doubt that. It gets worse."

"The story or the function? They aren't going to bring out some kind of weird entertainment like monkeys dancing on dogs or some shit, are they?"

She giggled at his overactive imagination. "We're holding the entertainment," she lifted her glass. "But if they do bring out monkeys, we're staying."

He smiled. "What's the rest?"

She took a fortifying breath. "I thought… I was under the impression that I was meeting him here."

"Which makes me, what? A placeholder or payback?"

She took another sip and regarded him hopefully. "More like a shoulder."

He straightened up for effect. "I have two of 'em, strong ones."

"I'm sorry. Drink up and laugh at me if you want. I totally deserve it. What kind of idiot am I, anyhow?" she asked, more of herself than Jess.

His expression turned serious, and he took a moment to stare into his drink. It looked far stiffer than hers, and she couldn't imagine it tasted anywhere as good. It was the kind of drink that stung by way of warning not to take on too much too fast. "I don't believe in keeping track of wrongs, but I know that between the two of us, I owe you more than you owe me."

She shook her head and stepped in closer to him. For a moment, the party faded to a barely existent backdrop. "I'm not asking you for anything, I can't use you like that."

"It's not a hardship for me, to be here with you. That dress alone should be enough to make any guy see reason, but if you want to make him sorry he brought the airhead blonde instead of you, it would be easy."

Her eyes fluttered a little, and she found that it was effortless to allow a little nostalgia to mix with the smooth sound of his voice. "Easy is a relative term."

"Night's young. The offer stands," he said, tipping his glass once more.

"Rory!"

Rory and Jess turned to see Honor on a mission, waving them to her.

"Who's that?" he asked in her ear, linking them as people who would share private confidences, at least until the end of the night. She'd found herself a partner in crime, though she knew it was wholly undeserved, no matter how Jess framed the situation in his own mind.

"Logan's sister. The boss' daughter," she amended. "We're friends, sort of."

He looked impressed, which wasn't something she was used to seeing. "Of course."

"It's a long story."

He smiled. "Aren't they all?"

Rory took her steps in stride, bolstered with Jess at her side. She didn't have to wonder what being with him meant, or what it might look like to anyone in that crowd, save for Logan. She stopped just short of her intended target, however, when she saw just whom Honor had been speaking with.

"Rory Gilmore, I'd like you to meet my father, Mitchum Huntzberger."

-X-

He's positioned himself to keep an eye on her and her date while remaining fully engaged in the party. He wasn't going to have his father complaining later about him sulking or disappearing or not being a team player. He spoke to those he knew his father would most want him to, pulling his date along whenever she wasn't in the restroom to keep an even exchange of fluids as she continued to drink out of boredom.

It wasn't enjoyable for him, to bear witness to Rory leaning in closer to her date or the way this guy whispered into her ear. They bore a familiarity, one that spoke of intimacy, either from the past or the very near future. Not that it made a difference, but he hated not knowing her motivation. It was in his realm of control until he lost sight of her, only to scan the crowd and find the pair opposite his father, as her date shook Mitchum's hand.

Honor stood nearby, beaming over the transaction like a madam at a whorehouse. He moved without a thought to his date, who was yet again in the ladies' room, and made a beeline for his sister. He approached from her rear, simply reaching out and pulling her toward him by the elbow.

"Rude," she admonished.

"What are you doing?"

"Mingling. And drinking," she added, as if attempting full disclosure with three whole words.

"Did you have to bring Dad into this? My punishment wasn't bad enough?"

"She's a person, Logan. A smart, driven, and enigmatic person with feelings, which is more than I can say for you. In fact, I'm not even sure why she's bothering with you at all. But you can't just ignore her because it's easier for you."

"You know nothing about her or us, so please, give me a break."

Honor smiled, pleased with herself. "She didn't tell you?"

He braced himself for whatever trick his sister no doubt had up her sleeve. "Tell me what?"

"She and I are friends now. We ran into each other and hit it off instantly. And since you mentioned that Dad hadn't actually met her yet, I figured someone had to introduce them. I mean, you did promise her face time, right? Plus, she works for him, through you, so it's the perfect time. I must say, he seems to like her. And, bully for you, I never mentioned you in the intros, so he has no idea she's the one you're … oh, what was that lovely term you used to describe your relationship? Screwing, I believe it was?" she asked for effect.

"Enough. I mean it, Honor, butt out. Forget your little ill-conceived friendship that you've developed out of spite, and let me handle this."

"Because you've been handling it so well thus far? Please. Do I need to point out the differences in your choice of escorts? Your little girlfriend keeps getting lost on the way to the loo while Rory managed to hook the hottest guy ever to grace this block."

"I see what you're doing, and believe me it isn't going to change anything."

"If that's true, then just ignore us. Block out the way Dad's listening to her date tell a story, and the way the guy's hand is resting around her waist. His thumb is brushing her spine, just above the cut of her dress. But none of that changes anything, does it?" she asked pointedly.

"I need some air," he said roughly, turning and trying to keep his words true. He didn't stop, even though he heard his name called several times as he passed by hundreds of people, until he reached the outer balcony where the few impervious had braved the winds and were either smoking or seeking solace.

-X-

"You're surprisingly good at all of this," Rory said as they reached the edge of the room closest to the windows, where it was considerably cooler, much to her relief.

"I have many talents you're unaware of," Jess teased her.

"I have no doubt," she said agreeably, enjoying seeing this side of him. "He's going to read your book, you know."

Jess scoffed at her optimism. "He'd have to find a copy first," he said, the first of many roadblocks to such an event.

"I'll put one on his desk. Or have Honor do it. I have access, sort of. And do you know what will happen after he reads it?"

"It will promptly move to his recycle bin. He strikes me as an avid recycler," Jess mused.

"His business is publishing," Rory reiterated.

"Newspaper publishing. I write fiction," he informed her slowly, as if she needed the difference spelled out for her. "But at least I know you haven't read it yourself yet."

"As a matter of fact, I have, and it was great. Admit it, you're schmoozing, and I might have just done you a favor."

"I'm already in your debt, name your price," he said, offering her a wrist with a melodramatic flair.

She swatted him away. "I'm just proud of us, that's all."

"You were doing some schmoozing of your own. No matter what his son thinks of you, you just impressed the boss. Add that to the way your boy stormed out of here, I think you win. And sadly, I didn't even have to ravage you to accomplish that."

"That was your plan, to ravage me?" she asked with a lilt in her already amused tone.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't have sucked."

She ducked her chin modestly. "Um, thank you? Seriously, though, what you did for me tonight, we're more than even, in whatever your view of things between us were. You let me not only survive this night, but actually enjoy it."

He nodded. "Good. You deserve more than that guy. You shouldn't let him put you in the background because of his shit."

She leaned in and kissed Jess' cheek. "I'll remember that."

"And if nothing else, you have his sister in your corner. And I'm guessing his dad, too. I'm just a train ride away, if you ever do want to give him a little competition."

He sounded more serious with that last round of offering. She put her hand on his shoulder. "We probably shouldn't. I mean, we're in a good place. Why risk that?"

He smiled wistfully. "'Cause it's fun. Wanna share a cab? I don't think there's going to be any dancing monkeys at this thing after all."

She shook her head lightly. "Nah. You go on ahead. I should say some goodbyes before I take off."

If he saw through her, he was kind enough to let it go by without mention. "Goodnight, Rory."

"Night, Jess."

Her savior left as quickly as he'd arrived. She turned and gazed out past the few people on the balcony as she took in the view one last time. Her glass was one taste from being drained, so she completed the task and left the empty glass on the bar on her way out into the breezy night.

"It's freezing out here," she complained as she huddled near him.

"Is it? I'm a little numb. You should go inside," he said sullenly.

She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered, not willing to be so easily swayed. "I wanted to say goodnight."

He took off his jacket at her insistence on standing in the cold with him. It was a simple act, his covering her bare skin with the heat it had collected from his body, but the gesture's meaning was not lost on her. "Are you staying in the city?"

"I didn't have a solid plan for this evening," she admitted.

"I think my date left," he said without any sorrow, not even bothering to glance inside.

"Her loss," she said simply.

"I get it, okay?" he said without looking at her. He continued to stare out at the bustling city, which was quietly illuminated from their great height.

"Get what? Because I don't get it at all, Logan. Some nights you act like being with me is as vital as air or food, and then a switch gets flipped and you're too busy or can't be bothered."

"It's just how things are," he said cryptically.

She nodded resolutely and put her hand on the railing as she looked anywhere but at him. "It's how things were. I should go."

He reached for her, his hand staying her with the surprising warmth of his palm at her waist under the jacket. "You're leaving?"

"You weren't very nice earlier, and I didn't deserve that. Just because I did exactly what you did, bringing a date to a function that you didn't want to attend with me… it's fine if we're not exclusive, Logan, but I don't want to be treated like a second-class citizen because you don't think I'm good enough for all occasions."

"That is not what this is about," he said sternly, his mournful manner replaced with a hastily assured measure.

"If it was just the fact that you didn't like seeing me with another guy, that's one thing. I can accept a little petty jealousy, but it was more than that. You weren't willing to even admit your glaring hypocrisy."

"I admit it, okay? The truth is you're too good for all of this. I don't want to put you through meeting my family and the drama that holds, all when I'm not even sure I can do this," he practically shouted into the night.

Wind began whipping her hair into her face. She pulled a strand away from her face despite the inevitable futility of the act. "I've met your family, Logan. They're not as evil as you make them out to be, at least as far as meeting strangers goes. They aren't the problem, you are. If you aren't sure you can do this, then don't do it."

She turned and left him with his jacket in his hands, holding firm until she reached the elevators. It was only then that she wished she hadn't sent Jess on ahead. She could have used a strong shoulder at that moment. It was a long ride down to the ground floor, and she couldn't help but let a tear or two fall. Apparently losing something that never really existed could hurt as much as the loss of something real.

She stepped out onto the pavement, noticing the rise in temperature from the last time she was outdoors, so many floors above street level. People were walking past, hailing cabs, and oblivious to her state of unrest. She hadn't made a plan, and therefore she wasn't sure which direction to go. A brief glance to her left didn't inspire her, so she looked to her right. There, leaning against the door to a closed Laundromat while smoking a cigarette, was her escort for the evening.

"Jess?" she asked, stepping to him like a beacon. He lowered his cigarette and held it down near his thigh as he blew smoke out the side of his mouth, keeping both away from her.

"Hey."

"Still a smoker?" she queried unnecessarily. She wasn't sure quite what to say to him. She'd wished for him to still be around in the elevator and the universe had been awfully quick to grant her.

"Sometimes," he said as he dropped the butt and used the heel of his shoe to put it out on the marred cement.

"You didn't have to put it out on my account," she said, feeling a bit guilty for interrupting his post-party reward.

He met her eyes. "I know you aren't keen on the smell."

"Yeah, but I've since developed an understanding of the need for vices," she said with a shared smile.

"Rory," he began, his eyebrows furrowed from the weight of whatever was running through his mind. Most likely it was the same topic that had pushed him to reach for a cigarette the first chance he got.

She studied him in the time he took to make his decision. Being with him that night had felt so comfortable, in a way that surprised her. He was a part of her past, not a stable part or for even very long, but being with him had always felt significant. He'd changed her, how she experienced things. His influence on her life had reached into so many different aspects that being with him now felt reassuring. Seeing herself in his eyes once again was like looking into a mirror into the past.

He moved fast. His right hand cupped her jaw and his left hand pulled her to him at the waist. His lips were warm and soft. She felt a little dizzy, but she wasn't sure if it was the speed, the nicotine, or just Jess. She put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself, letting the kiss flood her senses. It was not unlike looking at an old photo. The feeling of being transported to a time gone by, captured forever in one object, came rushing back at once. Once it was over, she knew it had nothing to do with her current reality. The kiss was intense, like a fast-burning flame, but as soon as their lips parted, his grip on her loosened. They stood there in the night on the streets of New York, their foreheads pressed together as they both felt the same flood pass.

"Sorry."

She smiled sadly. "Don't be."

"Guess our timing is never good," he stated, but she could hear the question in his voice.

She leaned up and kissed him again, willing the parting gesture to serve for her answer. She was all out of words and tired of their ineffectiveness anyhow.

-X-

It hit him hard, the sight of her walking away. He'd heard her words, but they didn't penetrate. He had always trusted action more than words. Words were fleeting; words could be amended or retracted. She wasn't just trying to get his attention, playing at some petulant game like so many others might have; she was leaving. He didn't slow to make his own goodbyes, as he made for the elevators to catch up with her. She'd disappeared through the crowd, and caught a ride down before his hurried gait could catch up. He could only hope she would have to wait to secure a cab once outside.

He was too late. She wasn't gone, but it seemed that she was set in her decision. Logan stood just outside the revolving door, as people pushed around him on their way, watching her have a very private moment for all to see. It wasn't a first kiss he was witnessing; it was far too intimate for that. He wasn't one to delude himself—he called a spade a spade. And what he saw was her kissing a man a way she'd never kissed him.

Upon his re-entry to the party, he walked in a cloud. He landed at the bar, seeing no reason to pretend to feel anything. His fight was gone. His father came to rest next to him, and for the briefest time they stood in silence. It almost made him feel like his father understood his need for solitude.

Almost, but not quite. "Now that we have a moment alone," Mitchum said. Logan knew that voice. It was a lowering boom. "There's something we need to discuss."

Logan sighed and met his father's sharp eyes. It seemed only one of them had been taking advantage of the open bar. "Can't it wait?"

Mitchum shook his head. "It can't. Monday morning we're going to start dismantling the Stamford paper."

Logan froze. "Wait, what?"

"You heard me. And as you're the most intimately connected with the staff, I'm going to need your input on how to best redistribute the talent."

"I have advertising money coming in. Circulation is up, and the online readership is up thirty percent," Logan argued.

"I know, and it was a successful test case. Your methods will be useful in other markets, which warrant salvaging."

Logan remained stunned, staring at his father in confusion. He'd been blindsided by Rory's change of heart, but this was too much, all at once. Everything he depended on twenty-four hours prior had been swiftly pulled from his reach in the space of fifteen minutes.

"There has to be another option," he said, grasping for a second chance, even just a fake appeasement. Anything to get him through the night.

Mitchum clapped him on the back. "It's done. I'll see you first thing Monday morning."

He had been wrong about a lot of things that night, the least of which being the fact that his date had left. He ran into her on his way out for good that evening, at which point he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her drunkenly back to his hotel room. If he was going to go out, he was going to go out with a bang.

-X-

It was early for anyone to be at her door on a Sunday morning. But the insistent pounding kept going, alerting her to the fact that her roommate wasn't about to get out of bed to answer and the person in question wasn't going to go away. Rory left her bed empty and shuffled, bleary-eyed and slightly hungover, to the door.

"What?" she yawned as she opened the door.

"Hi."

She straightened up at the sight of him. He had the look of someone who had never quite made it to bed, but rather found a lesser second wind and that coupled with some hair of the dog kept him upright and mobile. "What are you doing here?"

"Can I come in?"

She didn't want to fight. The night before had been a mixed bag of emotions, but when it came to how she'd left things with Logan she was pretty sure she'd firmly closed that window. "If you think there's anything left to discuss," she said haltingly.

"This isn't about us," he said simply.

She drew her hand back to usher him in. He stepped around her and sat on the couch. "My father pulled me aside last night. He's shutting down the _Eagle Gazette_."

If it was his way of hurting her, it worked. "What? Why?"

He laughed. "Funny. That's what I said."

"Did he give you a reason?"

Logan sighed heavily. "It was his plan, all along. Herr Huntzberger won't be waylaid for anything. He let me have just enough time to make sure I thought I was being successful before he took it away. He'll start dismantling operations this week. In a couple of weeks, it'll be empty office space for lease."

She sat down hard next to him, flummoxed. "The semester isn't over."

"We have other papers," he said gently.

Her eyes widened in surprise, touched as she was by the gesture. "You'd put me somewhere else?"

"You'll be an asset to any paper. This will double your exposure, for you it's probably the best thing that could happen," he said, trying to put a positive spin on it for her.

"What about you?"

"There's talk of London," he said, his face stoic and his outlook grim.

"London? Wow, that's…" she said, trailing off without certainty as to what London might mean for him, much less anything else.

"What you said last night, you were right for saying it."

She shook her head. "I'm not sure I meant it," she began.

He put a hand on her knee. She stared down at their juncture, wanting to hit a rewind button on their whole relationship. The only problem was she wasn't sure where to stop the tape to make their situation better, to make it not end like that. "If that other guy makes you happy, then you should be with him. I'm not a viable option for you. If you want to fall in love and be happy, you should have that. I'm going to be flung anywhere and everywhere my father deems fit until I drink the Kool-Aid."

"Other guy? What are you talking about?" she asked, not hungover enough to warrant such confusion.

"I saw you. Last night, I came after you, and saw you with him, on the street."

She paled instantly. "What? No, that was… that was just," she closed her eyes, remembering the bittersweet moment. "We were just saying goodbye."

"I would have preferred if our goodbye looked a lot more like his," he said quietly.

"Logan," she said, reaching for his hand on her knee, but he withdrew it and stood up.

"I should go. I just wanted to give you a heads up before you showed up to a sinking ship. I'll try to process your transfer before everything gets lost in paperwork and pink slips."

"Did you really come after me last night?" she asked softly.

"For as much good as it did," he answered in kind, watching her like a child looking into the window of a storefront that he couldn't access. Her chest began to hurt, but she couldn't quite bring herself to negate all she'd said to him before. It had come from a real place, but of frustration, but not of finality. She'd thought they would still have time together, to at least end things on a friendlier note. This seemed so rushed, so unfinished.

"That's it? It's all done now," she said slowly, trying to absorb the information.

"Everyone but me was on the same page. For what it's worth, I wouldn't have chosen any of this to end so soon. Goodbye, Rory," he said. He stood there, just inches from her, staring at her. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest and in her ears, willing her to act. She just wasn't sure how to fix all that had broken down between them. She couldn't force his father to keep the paper, and without that what reason did they have to go on seeing one another?

She could see he had no more answers than she did. If neither of them were willing to stand and fight for what they were losing, everything else would eventually fade away. It would taint her memories, and he'd go to London to start over with a new paper and possibly a new intern.

He could have kissed her in that moment, giving at least the façade of a proper goodbye, but instead she just watched as he let himself out without waiting for her to say anything in return. She felt as if she'd finished a chapter in a book, but she'd missed a page somewhere along the way.


	10. Everyone's Unhappy

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Everyone's Unhappy

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

The back door opened at five in the morning. She'd been alone, a fact she was grateful for in most respects, even though she'd gone to her mother's house for some camaraderie and moral support. Rory had driven down to Stars Hollow the evening prior, but found an empty house and no one with whom she could count on to either distract her or pour her guts out to, so she'd gone the route of keeping herself busy. She'd done five loads of laundry, including two of her mother's, made mac and cheese at three in the morning, and by the time her mother opened the back door that opened into the kitchen, Rory was seated at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a book in front of her, the spine cracked and creased from one prior read-through.

"You startled me," Rory accused, with a hand to her chest as Lorelai shut the door behind her, offering her daughter a quizzical look.

"Sorry. Pie?" she offered with the offering extended out in her hands.

Rory inspected the still-warm apple pie that her mother slid into the center of the kitchen table. "This is from Luke's."

Lorelai moved to pour herself a mug of fresh coffee. "You sound surprised."

"I'm surprised that he baked you a pie at this hour," she stipulated.

Lorelai turned with a pleased smile. "Yes, well, he's found it easier to reward me for waking up with him when he has early morning deliveries."

"Right," Rory said as she did her best not to concern herself with the ways he rewarded Lorelai that didn't involve pie.

"Is that for school?" Lorelai asked, inquiring about the book as she cut into the pie and put a slice on a small plate before putting it in front of her daughter without further askance about her hunger.

"Nope," Rory said succinctly, as she shut the book and slid it closer to her mother for closer inspection.

"Does that say…?" Lorelai asked, gripping the book now instead of the knife she'd used to divide the pie into pieces larger than most people might consider proper portion sizes.

"Yep."

"He wrote a book?"

"And it's good, before you ask."

Lorelai offered her daughter a sheepish look and returned the book. "You must have freaked when you came across this at the bookstore," Lorelai said, comfortable in her assumption.

"I would have, but he actually gave it to me when we saw each other last week," Rory said, digging into her pie with a fork rather than watching her mother's reaction.

"And now the daughter home without warning makes sense. What did he do this time?" Lorelai asked.

Rory shook her head. "It wasn't like that. It was… nice."

"Nice? Jess was nice?" Lorelai asked dubiously.

"He was always nice to me," Rory reminded. "Well, more so than anyone else."

Lorelai gave a half-snort of a laugh as she took her own bite of pie. "But he's gone now, right? Back to wherever it is moody writers like to hole up?"

"Philadelphia," Rory supplied. "And yes, he's gone back now."

"Why did you say now like that? Was he around for a while?"

"I saw him a couple of times. He came with me to this work thing I had, since we were both in New York."

Lorelai put her fork down. "What work thing. When were you in New York?"

"I told you, the party for Huntzberger Media, in Manhattan."

"The one your boss invited you to?"

"Apparently he invited everyone, not specifically me," Rory said pointedly.

"He could have invited everyone and still invited you specifically," Lorelai offered.

"No, it was my mistake, to think," Rory paused. "I told you, he and I weren't seeing each other like that. We weren't dating, we were just spending so much time together at the paper, and it bled over into a few off work hours, that's all."

"Were?" Lorelai asked, snagged on her use of past tense.

Rory stared down at her pie. "Yeah, that's over now. The paper is shut down, and I'm going to be reassigned for the duration of the semester."

"So, the boy wonder finally took it under?" Lorelai asked, having had a very narrow exposure of Logan and his ways, from her visit to Yale during the early part of his tenure at the paper in Stamford.

Rory tensed defensively. "It wasn't his fault. He was actually doing a great job. It wasn't his doing or his decision."

Lorelai held up a hand. "I think I need a few more details. So far I've got that Logan invited you and a few hundred other people to a party, to which you brought Jess, and now you're here alone with Jess' book."

Rory took in a breath and let it out slowly. "That's about it. Well, Jess kissed me."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Of course he did. Did he tell you he loved you and take off again?"

"No," Rory said sourly. "We said goodbye, like adults. It was a cathartic moment, actually. At least, it was until Logan told me that he'd seen me and Jess kissing and called everything off between us because I didn't kiss him like I kissed Jess or something to that effect."

"Well, speaking from someone who had the unfortunate experience of seeing you and Jess kiss, it was enough to give a person heart failure. Maybe it's just because I'm your mother and his hand was up your shirt," she added.

"There's nothing between me and Jess anymore! Jess should not be the reason Logan and I aren't seeing each other."

Lorelai cocked her head to one side. "Is there a reason you and Logan shouldn't be seeing each other?"

"I don't know exactly."

Lorelai watched her daughter as she sat miserably across the table, with a plate of crumbs and her ex-boyfriend's book in front of her. "Have you tried calling him?"

Rory shook her head. "We fought at the party, and then he came over to my dorm the next morning. He was pretty clear that things between us were over. He's going on to his next assignment and I'll go to mine, and whatever else was between us is ending with the _Stamford Eagle Gazette._"

There was silence in the kitchen, as Lorelai surveyed her daughter's sleepless efforts. "Did you do my laundry?"

-X-

Logan opened the door in his robe and pajama pants, not bothering to engage in greetings before he turned and padded back to the couch in bare feet on the eco-friendly cork floor of his apartment. It wouldn't be his apartment for much longer, a fact he lamented for more than one reason. He was certain that his visitor had come with his packing orders. He picked up his bowl of cereal and flipped channels on the remote, stopping at CNN as his father shut the door and stood in the living room in his trench coat and suit, setting a scene that highlighted the basic differences between them.

"Is now a bad time?" Mitchum asked finally.

Logan glanced at his father before turning his attention back to the television. There was more unrest in the Middle East, a new event lost in a millennia of turmoil. His thoughts jumped to Rory, and how she said she aspired to be a foreign correspondent. She'd make if it she wanted it badly enough, but he couldn't say he was a fan of her racing through war zones in the name of journalistic endeavors. Some stories never changed.

"Do I look particularly busy to you?"

"Papers go under, Logan, no one thinks it's your fault. You certainly don't have to sit around acting as if you lost something you cherished."

Logan turned off the television and swiveled toward his father. "It's Saturday morning. I spent all week firing and reassigning people, and I'm tired. Not getting dressed before noon is a luxury I've earned today."

"That's all you're upset about?" Mitchum asked knowingly. "Firing and reassigning people?"

"I told you, Dad, I'm tired. If you could get to the point, I'd appreciate it."

"You're too young to be so tired. I'm here because your sister came for dinner last night."

"Oh, Jesus," Logan groaned as he stood up, taking his half-empty bowl to the kitchen sink.

Mitchum turned and followed him to the counter. "She was under the impression you were going through a break up."

"She's severely misinformed," Logan said tersely. "Which doesn't mix well with her overactive imagination."

Mitchum's eyebrows rose in surprise. "So are you dating someone or not?"

"Does it matter?" he shot back.

"Excuse me?"

"If I were dating someone, would that factor into your plans for me to go to London or Nebraska or anywhere else I don't currently live and work until you get bored and decide to move me along again?"

"If you were dating someone, I'd want to meet her."

"Well, luckily for that poor soul, I'm not dating anyone."

Mitchum ignored the slight. "Why did Honor think you were?"

"Why does Honor think anything? Maybe they were out of the shoes she wanted to buy and she decided to amuse herself by creating family drama. God knows it's been too long since we were all in the others' business, right?"

"I'm here because I'm concerned about you," his father said in an almost convincing tone.

Logan shook his head. "Spare me. Just tell me where I'm going so I can start to pack."

His father folded his hands together in front of him. "Actually, I was going to let you choose this time."

Logan did a double take. "Excuse me?"

Mitchum shot him a warning look. "You did a great job, albeit not what I had anticipated. You showed real promise at the business end of things, and I have a couple of positions that I want you to look at and decide what you'd rather be doing."

"You're serious?"

"I want you to enjoy your work, the way I do. I know it's hard, uprooting yourself time and again, having to constantly prove yourself to a new team, but it's like I've always said," he lectured, but his son had heard part of that speech time and time again.

"A leader leads, no matter the circumstances," he said without emotion.

"Your time is coming. I brought the details of each position for you to look over. Let me know by the end of the week."

A stack of paperwork appeared from his father's briefcase and landed on the kitchen counter, two stuffed folders no doubt filled with projections and expectations and target market potentials. It was all more of the same, in two different locations, but this time it all felt different because he got to make a choice. As if it all might be that simple.

-X-

Lorelai had offered to entertain her wayward daughter, to take her mind off the fact that there was more than one aspect of her life that was left undecided and hanging in the balance. She had to press on, to focus on school and her writing. They were the most important things, of that she was certain, and deserved nothing short of her all. She'd get word by mail most likely, of what paper was expecting her to show up and make copies and keep the coffee fresh for the remainder of her semester. It would be a let-down, she knew, after having been broken in in such an unusual office. Her new boss would be twenty years her senior and she'd be lucky if he remembered her name, let alone ever asked her to help with layout. Everything about her experience in Stamford had been extraordinary, from the trust her co-workers put in her hands to the late nights she spent with her editor in his bed.

It had all surpassed her expectations and left her a little disillusioned for finding anything that would truly take its place. She could be reassigned, but nothing could fill the void of what she'd lost.

She'd thought about just calling him to see if he knew where she was going to end up; to see if he knew where he was going to end up just so she'd have a mental image to start to get adjusted to for the near future. Honor had left a couple of messages, ones she intended to return, but things were a little too fresh to have a heartfelt conversation with his sister about the state of her affairs.

She found herself back at her dorm, wholly unentertained with Paris out with Doyle and a stack of reading to do for class lying in wait for her to tackle without her usual gusto. It was going to be a long, quiet night, and she decided that she was going to need coffee to get through it.

The campus was quiet, save for small groups and a handful of couples making their way to parties or wherever their next stop might take them. It was Saturday night, it seemed she was the only one who had done a months' worth of laundry the night before and was left alone to her own devices. She hadn't spent a Saturday night alone in quite some time, it occurred to her as she wandered alone. She'd barely been on campus, save for classes and the occasional dinner. For a casual relationship based primarily on sex, her time with Logan had been quite considerable. She'd spent so much of her life longing to wander hallowed halls of an Ivy League school, and now that she was there she had no time to relish in exploring it.

With coffee in hand, she took a long loop back to her dorm, passing by fountains and libraries, lit with the old street lights that had been in place for more than a hundred years. She felt safe out by herself, even though she'd been handed any number of pamphlets filled with lectures on the dangers of being out alone near or after dark. Twilight was looming, the sky a mix of purples and dark blues that would soon fade to black, just dark enough to trigger the sensor for exterior lights to help light the way around the buildings.

She rounded past a fountain that had been a class gift decades ago and stopped short as she saw a familiar form seated on the edge around the water. She took a halting step his direction, still undecided as to whether it would be best to walk away without him being the wiser that she'd had this sighting. All the times she failed to call when she wanted to bubbled up and pushed her to put one foot in front of the other until she was next to him.

"Logan?"

He looked up, surprised. He had a quarter in his hand, and he appeared to be in a state of deep thought. "Rory. Hey."

"You about to make a wish?" she asked, gently teasing him.

"I didn't think of that," he admitted as he considered the coin.

"What are you doing here, Logan?"

Her question wasn't accusatory; it was an honest question of curiosity. It was as if he'd appeared due to her thoughts luring him into her path.

"This spot is about halfway between my favorite bar off campus and my old dorm room. I would invariably get here about two fifteen in the morning and need to rest."

She smiled at him. "You're early."

He returned the amused smile. "Over time, it began to be a place I came to think, mostly at night, trip to the bar or not."

She sat down next to him, keeping a couple of feet between them for good measure. "It's quiet here, good for thinking."

He eyed her knowingly. "You can't steal my spot."

Her mouth dropped in an indignant, if mocking, manner. "You don't go here anymore. I might need a back-up for my spot."

"If you already have a spot, why aren't you in it?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I felt like fresh air."

"And the books in the antiquities department are rather musty, aren't they?" he added, calling her out.

It was her turn to be surprised. "How did you know?"

"You might as well have a sign flashing in neon over your head that says you love old books. I've seen what you keep under your bed."

She smiled at the ease of their conversation and the way he'd been able to make an assumption about a personal aspect of her that she didn't share with anyone. She felt he had the right, seeing as she was intruding on a private moment of his. "What's with the coin?"

"It's… just a decision I have to make."

"And it comes down to a coin toss? Must be a doozy."

"I thought I might save myself the trouble," he began. "But I've yet to flip it."

"I can go if you need to commune with the water or whatever it is you do out here."

He smiled. "You talk to those books, don't you? You and Euripides are old chums, aren't you?"

"That is between me and the books," she admonished playfully.

He smiled, in a genuinely sad way. "I've missed this."

She nodded and looked to see how many people had tossed coins in with hope, just after making a wish from their hearts. If he was out to make his decision based on logic, she was pretty sure he had all the wrong tools. "Yeah. Me too."

"I have a few days to flip the coin," he said, keeping his inner issues to himself, as always. "If you were interested in some company."

The offer struck her in the chest, leaving her in an impossible position. There was no right answer, no guide that would offer her what was best for their situation. She shouldn't spend an evening with him, as everything that had been between them was supposed to have dissolved. But she wouldn't get anything else done if she left him there alone at the fountain, doomed for a night of fitful sleep while wishing she'd taken the opportunity that might be her last. Suddenly the concept of sex with one's ex made perfect sense to her.

"That'd be nice. My place is empty," she said, giving him all the information he needed for the time being. He pocketed the coin as he stood up and offered her his then unoccupied hand.

-X-

He didn't buy into signs or miracles or any other far-fetched notions that gave cause to believe in a greater power in the universe. He had enough intervention in his life from his family—he didn't need the whole cosmos conspiring against him as well. Luck was another matter, but even that he attributed to a kind of karma, a system of checks and balances brought on by his own actions. So it was luck, seemingly undeserved and good, and not fate that had brought her in his path that evening in his estimation.

There were few coincidences in life, and her wandering aimlessly straight at him as he sat and pondered the direction of his life seemed too substantial to brush off in that way. He's spent most of his life hoping to be offered such a choice as the one weighing on his mind—and if he'd ever thought it possible, he would have never believed that he'd be so ill-equipped to make the decision.

The truth was, he wouldn't have even thought of going to the fountain to get a clearer head and a nudge toward his preference, if not for her and all the time he'd spent on campus with her of late. He didn't often seek out solace, but it had been a spot he'd sought out without fail whenever he was in need during his college years. It was solace he was in search of that night, but he didn't feel the wash of relief until he was walking the familiar path back to her room at her offering.

It wouldn't make his decision about work any easier, being with her even just one more time. It would serve as a complication, but the momentary break from trying to get a full breath that he'd been struggling with since their last meeting—that was what he needed most of all. If all else failed, he knew plenty of ways to steal her breath away.

Her place was empty of people, as promised. To her it was filled with reminders of her life—past, present, and hope for the future—and that could get overwhelming. To him, it was filled with the same aspects of her life, but he found the same collective inviting. It never failed, that kind of perspective shift.

He didn't bother making small talk or pretending the interlude was anything other than what it was. His desire was great, but he kept his hand modestly in hers until they reached her front building, allowing his arm to slide around her shoulders as they crested her hallway, and once she shut her front door behind them, he stopped monitoring his actions.

Her head went back against the wall in the common area as his hand slipped up under her shirt. His hands were full of her, grasping at her through under layers of fabric that were thin, but not thin enough for his satisfaction.

"Not here." She said the words, but she didn't sound like she cared where they were, as long as he kept doing what he was doing.

"Where would you like me to be?" he asked, knowing the double meaning of his question would not be lost on her.

"The bed," she managed, but her hips thrust up against his, giving him due pause from moving them with any due haste. He trailed one hand down her side, meaning to grip her hip to stay her, but he was tired of thinking and uninterested in being rational with her by then. He continued down, under the waist of her jeans. The fit was just loose enough to allow his fingers to move across the far more delicate cloth underneath.

She said his name then, a breathy mix of want and prompting. His decisions had shifted from living in one of two major cities to the difference between taking her on the spot or carrying her to her bed. In this instance, he saw no reason have to choose.

He didn't slow, and he wasn't about to stop, but when her eyes opened wide and fixed on him, he felt a whole speech bubble up in his throat. There was so much he wanted to tell her, to ask her; things he didn't feel he deserved to make her deal with. It took all his concentration to keep his pace, knowing from having been watching her expressions shift from enjoyment to the brink of satisfaction that she'd have just cause to inflict physical pain if he quit what he was doing right then to pour out his heart.

Her body went lax a while later, leaning into him for support, and he bent to slide an arm under her bare knees. Her arms cradled his shoulders as he lifted her up off the ground and stepped away from their discarded clothing to the warmer confines of her bed.

She giggled and turned her head into his chest as he nudged her door shut with his foot. "Paris will come home and freak when she sees a puddle of our clothes in the middle of the common room."

"Paris needs real problems," he disregarded the thought, perfectly content to slide under the covers next to her.

She didn't disagree, but he hadn't expected her to. She was lying back on the pillow, her hair billowed out around her like a messy halo of brown silk.

"Do you ever think about living somewhere else?" he asked as she considered him with those engrossing eyes of hers.

She frowned just enough to draw her eyebrows down. "You mean getting my own place?"

He shrugged. "Or living with someone else, anyone who isn't Paris," he amended.

She blew out a breath. "I don't know. I'm kind of immune to her by now. She reassuring, in a psychotic kind of way. But she and Doyle are talking about getting a place next year, so I guess I'll have to start looking at my options in a couple of months."

He'd start next week, but he didn't offer that information. "You should consider living off campus, since you have a car."

She nodded absently. "Yeah, maybe. But you didn't come over to discuss my housing options, did you?"

He hadn't. He knew he was a hair's breadth from asking her to help him make a decision. It didn't make sense; she wasn't at a place in her life to tether herself to someone like him, someone in his position—and he didn't need to hear her tell him that she wasn't interested in doing so. He should just enjoy the night, make his decision and go without looking back. And yet, he couldn't stop the next question. "Have you heard where your internship will be?"

She tensed against him. "Oh. Um, no, not yet. You haven't heard anything about it?"

He shook his head. "No, it's not up to me. They'll keep it local enough, though, since you're tied to Yale."

She fidgeted some more, her hand gently coming to rest on his forearm. "What about you?"

"We don't have to do this. You don't have to pretend to care where I'll end up."

She held his gaze without so much as a blink. "You know."

He gave a slight shake of his head. "Not yet, but it'll either be Boston or London."

"Your dad has to figure it out?" she surmised.

He looked at her intently. "No, he's letting me pick."

She had apparently be paying attention when he spoke about his father, because the surprise was evident instantly. "Oh. That's… nice?"

"I thought so at first. It feels less nice the longer I take to decide."

"Oh?" she asked, possibly innocently, but there was something in her voice that wanted to know more.

"My life is here. Boston would allow me to keep things relatively the same, except I'd have to move my home base. But I'd be able to stay in touch with my friends, and the job would be similar to what I was doing in Stamford."

She nodded, waiting for him to go on, to show her the flip side of the coin. "And London would let me start over, in a new place, doing something different. I'd be working with acquisitions and be in a different time zone than everyone else that I know."

"We went backpacking after high school," she said, smiling at the memory. "London was my favorite. I knew it would be—I've been reading books set there as long as I can remember. It always feels so magical, a place where you can do anything and be anyone. It didn't disappoint."

He smiled at her characterization of the city. "It's one thing to enjoy it for a visit, but would you want to pack up and move there at the drop of a hat?"

"My dad lives in Boston," she said, in no way answering his question, but giving him an entirely different kind of answer.

"You've never talked about your dad before," he said in a reverent tone.

"I don't often. I talk to him every few weeks, mostly about school and my mom, and he tries to email me once a week. He tries to keep tabs on me and makes sure I know he cares what I'm up to. We've had a strained relationship, despite all that. He wasn't really around until I was in high school."

"So you're not a fan of Boston," he offered lightly.

She gave a wry smile. "It's not my decision. It doesn't really matter what I'd do."

"Guess I'm back to the coin," he said with a heavy sigh.

She put a hand on his chest. "I'll be jealous if you choose London. I've always wanted to go back again."

"And if I choose Boston?" he asked.

She looked at him with those wide, wondering eyes again. "What do you mean?"

He sank down into her again, letting skin meld with hers. She was still hot and flush from their earlier encounter. Light pink stains ran across her collarbone and up her neck into her hairline. "If I go to Boston, would you want to visit me there, too?"

Her mouth opened in a state of speechlessness. He took the opportunity to kiss her. She responded, but once their lips broke apart, so did she. "I thought you were done with all of that. The paper and me."

"I should be. No matter what I choose, I'm leaving. I knew that going into Stamford, that it wouldn't last long, and that anything I did to keep things going as long as they did was just prolonging the inevitable."

"You worked so hard," she echoed. "You seemed happy."

"I was," he said, his voice hollowed with regret. "But it wasn't just because of the paper."

She was stricken at his admission. "You said," she began uneasily.

"I know what I said. I said it over and over, but it didn't make what I felt go away. I said it to you, to myself, to my sister, even to my father earlier today. I can say it as much as I want, but it doesn't keep me from being here with you now, not wanting to move to London because you'll be half a day behind me."

"I thought this was just what happens after people stop seeing each other. One last night, to tie up loose ends," she said out loud, but she seemed to be talking more to herself than him.

"I've never gone back to anyone else, not like this. So if this is what people do, people are crazy. I hate feeling this way."

She snapped her attention back to him then. "Feeling what way, exactly?"

"I miss you. I think about you and wonder if you're with that other guy or if you hate the way we left things as much as I do."

Her confusion didn't lift. "I told you, I'm not with that other guy."

His eyes closed in pain. "I saw you with him. I saw the way he looked at you, the way he touched you. The way he kissed you," he said pointedly.

"You're jealous, that's what this is about?" she pressed. She sat up, using her elbow to support her and her other arm slung protectively across her chest.

"I'm not jealous, I just didn't like seeing you with that guy. He couldn't keep his hands off of you."

She stared at him, aghast at his. "What do you think jealous means, anyway? Admit that this has nothing to do with you missing me and everything to do with the fact that your nose is out of joint because you think I'd rather be in his bed than yours."

"Are you sleeping with him?" he asked, unable to stop himself from asking. He'd had too much bottled up in regard to her, and once the dam broke any chance to salvage his dignity.

"You want to go there? You want to tell me who all you're sleeping with?" she deflected.

"I just want to be with you," he said, not really answering her. Being with someone else hadn't been though to take his mind off of her. He was doing the only thing that helped, being with her.

"Really? Or do you just want someone else to blame when you start resenting your new job?"

Her accusation hit him hard. "I tell you that you're a consideration for me when deciding whether or not to move out of the country, and that's what you take from it?" he asked coldly.

She shook her head sadly. "I've talked to Honor. She told me about how you never really have to worry about whether you fail or succeed, because you never get a choice in what you're doing. Your father picked your college, your internships, your jobs, and you screwed around during all of it because you could always blame him for his choices. You enjoy proving him wrong."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he warned.

"It all makes sense to me. And now that he's giving you a choice, even just a small one, you don't want to accept responsibility, so you're suddenly interested in a real relationship that will make the choice for you? It's a little too convenient," she finished.

"You could have just told me you weren't interested and skipped all the psychoanalysis," he bit back.

"I'm not interested in being a scapegoat. If you really want to be with me, to give a real relationship a chance, then you're going to have to do better than this."

It was his turn to come away confused. "What does that even mean?"

Her eyes welled up a little, to the point he was afraid she might cry. He had little patience for crying women, but he would feel eternally guilty for making her cry because of his actions. And it was his fault that she was near tears, while naked in her own bed. "I can live with what we had being over, because we both agreed that it was what it was. And I can understand us having this backslide, or whatever you want to call it. But after this, I'm done. You can choose to go to London or Boston or Siberia for that matter, as long as it's what you want to do."

All he'd heard was two words. "You're done."

She put her hand on his arm. "I have missed you. I will continue to miss you. I would like to see if this could be more than what we allowed while we were working together, but if that's what you really want, then the ball's in your court. You're going to have to convince me that you want to do it right."

He was aghast, but intrigued. "You say all of that like it's simple."

She disagreed with a shake of her head. "I never said it would be easy, for either of us. I never claimed to be without my own issues or sure that we're compatible."

He let her words sink in. It was more of a challenge than anything, at least given the alternative. He sat in silence for a little while, taking her hand to turn it over in his. "What else did my sister tell you?"

She smiled secretively. "I'm not at liberty to break that confidence."

"It's no good, trying to protect your source, even in my family," he informed her.

"I like your sister. She's not like anyone else I've ever met," she said, her mood far better than her close call with waterworks.

"That's not necessarily a compliment," he snickered. "She means well, most of the time. I think," he said with a sigh. "I'm not used to my family being acquainted with a girl I'm seeing. If we do end up dating, their involvement will only get worse and more frequent."

"No one's forcing you to do anything here. I certainly don't want to be with a guy that's with me because he's trying to prove a point to himself or me or anyone else."

She was pulling back from him again, so he did the only thing he wanted to do. He tracked her movements and pressed his lips to hers, using his hands to gently cradle the back of her head and her back. Her resolve was strong, but even then she relaxed into him completely, giving into him as her fingers pushed up into his hair at the nape of his neck. He wanted to remind her why they might work, and he wanted one more memory should it all fall apart before they could give it a try.

-X-

She felt like a world-class idiot. She'd made a fool of herself before, on many occasions. Usually it was for a good cause at least, in the name of hometown pride or charity. But she had never in her whole life done something as dumb as asking a man of the likes of Logan Huntzberger to woo her.

Until last night, that is. She awoke the next morning alone, relieved and mortified. They'd spoken no more about the ultimatum she'd handed out—actually they'd not spoken at all after he'd kissed her and they finally had sex in her bed. And not only had they done it once, but twice; in addition to the interlude they had up against her common room wall made for a total of three times that night. She wasn't sure what kind of woman had sex three times in one evening with a man she was no longer seeing, but she was pretty sure that behavior wasn't congruent with telling him that unless he was ready to commit to her, it was the last chance he'd have to sleep with her. The truly awful thought that perhaps the three-peat was a case of him getting while the getting was good occurred to her and made her feel like an even bigger idiot.

She had no doubt that by now he was making plane reservations to get to London as soon as humanly possible. In her mind few people would choose Boston over London, but surely she had tipped the scales for his need for space. She had nothing against Boston—having spent years aspiring to attend college there—but for someone who grew bored as easily as he did, a new city in a new country with a new job had to sound far more appealing than hanging back and taking up with one of his former conquests.

She needed to shake it off. Perhaps it was unfair to draw such a line in the sand, but he had been no better in trying to use her to avoid making a decision that he didn't want to take responsibility for. She was akin to flipping a coin to him, and neither were tolerable methods of making big life decisions. He might as well have had a Magic 8 ball to help him in his plight. It was unlike him, someone with his kind of charm, confidence, and at times outright bravado. She'd seen him in action, and she knew that a little risk didn't scare him enough to make him blink, let alone back down. She wondered if he was scared at the idea of dating her in particular or if it was just commitment in general as his sister had said.

It didn't matter now, seeing as he was gone and she'd left the decision of their future up to him. He'd chosen to slip out in the night, without so much as a parting word. That told her enough; that she needed to get up and go on with her day and her life without him. She was grateful when her cell phone rang, calling her out of her negative self-examination.

"Rory Gilmore?"

She straightened up at the sound of the authoritative and cordially clipped voice. "Yes, speaking."

"This is Lydia, from Mitchum Huntzberger's office. I'm calling to arrange a meeting, is three o'clock this afternoon suitable for you?"

Her pulse sped up. "A meeting?"

"Yes, Mr. Huntzberger will be available this afternoon before he meets with the dean in the Yale School of Journalism about endowments. He would like to meet with you in his downtime regarding your internship placement."

She'd faltered, but quickly found her footing despite her confusion. "Oh, yes, of course. I can make that work."

Lydia offered the name of a coffee shop near the newspaper office on campus, a place Rory was well acquainted with, and thanked her before hanging up to make plans that would no doubt fill the man's schedule from now to the end of time. Calling Logan to find out why his father, a very busy man who employed an army of people that could have sent her word via mail, email, or singing telegram as to where she'd be placed, was meeting with her in person was out of the question. But she couldn't wait around, chewing her fingernails down to nothing, until three in the afternoon wondering why he would even bother speaking to an intern about such a trivial matter. She knew that while her placement was a huge deal in her own life, from being chosen in the first place to the way working in Stamford with Logan had commandeered her life for a while, to now being moved elsewhere—it meant nothing to a man like Mitchum Huntzberger. He had an empire to run, and she'd been lucky to chat with him at a party for even five minutes. The only reason she might have stuck out in his mind was the fact that Honor had made the introductions.

It was time to return one Honor Huntzberger's phone call.


	11. Was There All That Much to Gain?

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Was There All That Much to Gain?

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

Honor Huntzberger had gotten into her head. It was a mix of her contagious positivity and her inability to accept that things might not turn out just as she expected. Asking her opinion was akin to asking her to play God, or in her case, Goddess. Suddenly, as Rory sat in the coffee shop awaiting a meeting with Mitchum Huntzberger, she realized that Logan's superiority complex could have been much, much worse.

Rory didn't see him open the door, but she felt the shift in atmospheric pressure. She turned toward the source of the pressure difference and saw a man who exuded power, money, and control, even though his eyes were on the menu and all he was going to order was coffee. Even if she'd never laid eyes on him before, she would have known it was him without question. She sat at the table with her half-finished coffee, letting butterflies swarm in her stomach and stress build as he waited for his drink to be poured. Once he turned to scan the crowd, she half stood and put up one hand, feeling instantly pedantic for the gesture.

"Hello, Miss Gilmore. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Deans don't like to let accomplished alumni leave their offices."

Rory gave him a knowing smile. "I can only imagine."

"So I'm guessing that you think it's pretty strange that the head of the company came all this way to have a chat with you, when I could have had one of a thousand underlings send you a letter about the matter."

She shouldn't have been surprised at his blunt words, but she was a little taken aback. Even Logan wasn't quite so forward with his intentions, and he's always been very straightforward with her. "Well, in fact, yes. I thought I might get an email."

"I hate email," he admitted, with a weary annoyance. "People use it as an excuse to put off conversations and push deadlines. Technology is the working man's scapegoat, now I have any number of people saying their voice mails were lost or their emails weren't getting sent or some such excuse, when all it takes is walking down a hallway and talking to people face-to-face. When I was in college, it's all we had, and we got far more done in a day."

"Here people use it as an excuse as to why their papers were late," she added.

He raised his coffee, indicating that she was just proving his point. "It filters down to the lower tiers. But enough about my pet peeves. I have heard great things about you."

She straightened her spine and banged her forearms lightly against the table, nearly resting her elbows on it in a way that would have made her grandmother go into hiding for the shame of her granddaughter's table manners. "You have?"

He smiled, flashing a shocking resemblance to his son. "I met with all the desk editors and upper level staff of the Stamford paper, while we were determining how to allocate all our resources, and your name came up quite a few times, associated with the words eager, indispensable, and smart. Those are three of my favorite words, and when I hear them applied to one person I take notice."

"I definitely feel noticed," she said agreeably. She took another sip, wishing she he thought out some better things to say to him beforehand. Honor had told her not to over-think it, to be herself. She'd felt so prepared after speaking to Honor. Now she felt like some kind of poseur.

"Now, I think we both know that there is one person from the Stamford office that would be wholly lost without you."

Her mouth fell open so hard that she was almost afraid it would rest on the table instead of her elbows. Blood drained from her cheeks as her heart lurched. "We do?"

He considered her in an amused fashion. "You don't need to pretend that you don't know to whom I'm referring."

She hadn't thought anything could be more mortifying than the time that Miss Patty, Stars Hollow's only dance teacher and noted cougar, had tried to give her a sex talk—but she was fairly sure having Mitchum Huntzberger not-so-subtly telling her that he knew how close she'd been with his son was right up there. "Listen, I'm not exactly sure what Logan said to you," she began gingerly.

Mitchum held up a hand, halting her words. "I wasn't talking about my son. Logan was exceedingly quiet when it came to you. I was talking about Harry. He's my metro guy at our paper in Waterbury as of next week, and I thought that it might be a good fit to finish out your intern position."

It all felt hammered into her all of a sudden. Logan hadn't spoken to his father about her. Logan was choosing between working in London and Boston. Logan would be nowhere near Waterbury or anywhere else she would be. Logan might get a choice from his father, but she would be a moron to turn down any offer from Mitchum Huntzberger. An even bigger moron than she'd been for sleeping with her boss or for listening to Honor in the first place.

She smiled tightly, hoping to appear thrilled. "Waterbury would be great."

-X-

Logan opened his front door, revealing the half-packed state of all his worldly belongings to his visitor. His unwelcome visitor. "Go away."

Honor didn't budge. "I'm here to let you take me out to lunch."

"I'm fasting," he lied to encourage her to leave.

"It isn't healthy to abstain from food in times of stress. But if you do need suggestions on what you should abstain from, I could make you a list."

"Don't you have a boyfriend to nag?" he shot back.

"Nice boxes. Where are they headed?" she asked in a superior fashion.

"Did Dad send you over here? What is it going to take to get you to stop talking to him about my future?"

"I swear to you that I have not spoken to Dad about you in at least a month. But I will admit I have been chatting with another mutual acquaintance of ours, and your name did crop up a few times."

He narrowed his gaze at his sister. She was being coy, and he hated when she was coy. Next she'd be aloof and before he knew it, the urge to inflict physical pain would surface. Being his only sibling, he always felt he should squash that urge, but it would help if she could curb her own behavior to that end. "Who?"

"Rory Gilmore. You know, Logan, I used to think you had horrid taste in women. It's hard for me to say that because some of the entries in your black book are some of my very dear friends, but just because I've done tequila shots with someone doesn't make them a good match for you. You doing tequila shots out of their navels doesn't make them good matches for you either," she said pointedly.

"I've never had tequila in the vicinity of Rory Gilmore," he answered calmly.

"Thank God for small wonders. I like her. I know you like her. Even Dad likes her. And if you had been calling Dad, to even just say hi, you might know that right now he's at Yale for some alumni thing and he made sure to make time to take a meeting with Rory Gilmore about her future."

He froze, hoping that if he was still enough the whole world might pause for a minute. "What?"

"He wanted to make sure she was put in the right place for her next internship, so he's meeting with her himself."

He turned on his sister. "You did this."

"I get that you're paranoid and you don't trust anyone in this family, but I did not do this. What I did do is coach Rory so she was prepared to speak to him."

"What else did you coach her on?" he asked, knowing there was way more than she was admitting to straight out. Honor had a policy of leaking full disclosure at her leisure.

"Some things are easier to discuss over food," she suggested, not willing to be rushed to speak.

"I can get you a PowerBar," he offered in full irritation.

She sighed and pushed past him to sit on his couch. "She isn't going to be moved by your indecision, Logan."

"What does that even mean?" he asked, bewildered at how easily his sister presumed to know Rory Gilmore and her mind.

"You can't ask a college student to make the decision as to whether or not you should move out of the country. At least, not unless…," she trailed off, searching his eyes meaningfully.

"Unless what?" he pressed.

Honor's whole demeanor softened. "Do you love her?"

-X-

She'd been sitting in her chair for far too long. The bones in her butt ached, and her neck was starting to cramp from staring at her computer and typing for longer than was wise. She would stop and take a break, but she was nearly done and there was no sense at taking a breather when the finish line was in sight. She sighed and glanced out the window, noting the signs of spring. Snow was melting and green was poking through. Soon, but not soon enough, trees and flowers would be waking up and blooming, bringing real color back to her life. Most students would be taking off for a hit of real warmth soon on spring break. At this point, she'd be happy to just get up out of her stupid, hard chair.

"You're either concentrating really hard or you're about to go all Office Space on your computer."

Rory's head snapped up, a move her overtaxed muscles did not care for, and stared at Logan as he cavalierly swept in and sat on the edge of her desk. "I'm working."

He nodded. "Are you almost done?"

She tried to put up any kind of defense that would make this meeting conclude without ending up having sex with him. It seemed to be some kind of undeniable force, even though they were two highly educated adults that were completely aware that having sex would not solve any of their issues. "What are you doing here, Logan? Shouldn't you be packing?"

"It's getting done," he said, keeping his response vague enough to keep her wondering. She didn't want to wonder about him. She wanted him to be a known quantity, so she could firmly ensconce him in a big red warning sign. It was clear that while Honor held out hope for him to step up and commit to something other than himself, he was in no hurry to act on any of those feelings.

"Great, I'm glad that's all working out so well for you," she said without emotion as she stared at her screen and continued typing. She hoped he didn't glance at her screen to see her adding typos due to her lack of concentration to the task at hand. But as long as she stared at her cursor and not the way his pulse was jumping at his collar, she wouldn't leave with him at the first provocation.

His posture relaxed and he hung his head lower. She could see him far too well from her periphery, and she hoped he would leave before her will dissolved completely. She reminded herself that when it counted, Harry had spoken more glowingly, in a more needful manner, about her than Logan had. She knew he and his father had issues, but if he couldn't be bothered to say anything at all about her in regard to where she should be placed after the dismantling of the Stamford paper, after all she'd done for him there, then she could remain stony—no matter what her hormones were telling her.

"Can we go somewhere and talk?" he asked, his voice low and wanting.

She shifted and attempted to ease the strain on her shoulders. "I've got to get this done."

"I heard you were going to be working on the Waterbury paper after break. I know you have a lot on your plate, starting there and your duties here and school work," he consented.

"Yes, your father thought it would be the best fit for me, after talking to everyone from the _Gazette_. Well, actually, everyone but you," she said, finally glaring at him.

To his credit, he pressed on. "What did he say?"

"He told me how much he'd heard about me, and how much Harry and Bob and Diane and a few others told him what a great job I'd been doing, and how much they trusted me with any task. He said he almost everyone in the office had something to say about me. In fact, the only person that didn't bring up my name was you."

"You don't understand," he began in way of defending himself.

She wasn't in the mood to let him explain or to be understanding. She turned her eyes back to the screen even though her eyestrain was unbearable. Even when she was mad at him, he was far easier on her eyes than her computer screen. "No need, Logan. I got the message loud and clear."

He tensed. "What message is that?"

"Let's not pretend here, okay? I told you I didn't need you to give me any special treatment when it came to work, and I meant it, but after all the time we spent together you couldn't at least even tell your dad that I wasn't totally incompetent—you couldn't even say anything about me at all, as if I didn't exist?" she whispered harshly.

"You've got this all wrong. I didn't need to give you a glowing review. I knew you had a whole stack of them, from desk editors that have been in the business longer than I've been alive, whose opinions my father respects far more than mine. If I'd said anything to him, it would have been detrimental to you."

"That makes no sense."

"He knew… about us. If I'd tried to sell him on you, he'd have assumed I was doing it because I was looking to keep things between us going, and he'd have sent you a standard form letter about budget cuts and a lack of available opportunities at this time."

"Logan, I've met with your dad. Don't get me wrong, he's terrifying in a way that I'm sure he cultivated over many decades, but he didn't strike me as vindictive."

"You have no idea how he really is. You've got to trust me on this."

She nearly choked on the spiteful chuckle that bubbled up in her throat. "Trust you? You don't even know what you want."

He closed his eyes, obviously holding back whatever response she'd initially triggered. When his eyes opened, she could see renewed resolve in them. And if she wasn't mistaken, a little bit of desperation. "I'm trying to figure that out. That's why I came here today, to talk to you. More specifically, to ask a favor of you."

Now she was downright incredulous. "You need a favor from me?" she asked, wholly in disbelief. She wasn't sure what his angle was, but she was certain he had one. He wouldn't have lasted that long during their conversation without some kind of agenda.

He leaned in closer, not wanting to broadcast what he was about to say to anyone but her. "I thought a lot about what you said. How I had to make a decision and I had to do it right. But the thing is, I don't want to make a decision and have it only end up hurting you. I want to be sure it's right for both of us, that I can," he stopped, shaking his head. "I want more time with you. I need to go to London to check it out, and you have spring break coming up, so I thought since you love London so much we could go together."

She stared at him. Words failed her, so she just continued to look at him.

The longer this went on, the more concerned he grew. "Rory? Did you hear me?"

"Yes, I just feel like I need to sit down," she said honestly.

"You are sitting," he reminded her.

She put her hands flat on the desk. "Right. Well, good then."

"Is that a no?" he asked at last.

"It's not a no," she said warily. She should have said no, it seemed the only sane answer. But she couldn't stop looking at him, and she couldn't say no.

His face brightened. "Is that a yes, then?"

"Not exactly. I can't just decide something like that on the spur of the moment, Logan. I mean, we're not even…," she said, trying to explain something he already knew. He had to know, seeing as he was the other person in the tangle of feelings they'd developed for one another.

"I know. But that doesn't mean we can't," he asserted.

"Can we?" she asked seriously. "Really?"

"We can go somewhere else to discuss this more. I can wait, if you have a lot left," he offered.

She glanced at the screen again, seeing a document that wasn't going to benefit from her poring over it yet again. She clicked save and sent it off. "I guess we can talk. But I might still need time to think about it."

"Spring break is next week."

"I know."

"If you have other plans, I understand. I shouldn't have just assumed," he said, uncharacteristically meek.

She stood up, disengaging from her work space and offering true relief to her sore lower half. "Let's go talk."

He smiled and stood up as well. "Yeah?"

"Before I change my mind," she encouraged, putting a spring in his step as he hurried to keep up with her.

-X-

He'd expected her to say no. On the list of things he could count on in life, nearly every one of them had turned around and proved to him that he knew next to nothing. First his father gave him leeway, then a choice of locations. Next his sister had embedded herself in his life not solely for meddling purposes, but to give him a shot at the one girl he might want to stick it out with. Now the reasonable, sensible woman that had no reason for giving him a chance to prove himself was willing to consider accompanying him on a trip to London. He needed to tread lightly, but he had never had much luck with that.

"You want some coffee?" he asked as they walked along, toward an unidentified location.

"Sure, I guess."

He noticed how she was keeping herself separate, away from the likelihood of accidentally brushing his arm as they walked. "Or we could just go back to your room."

The suggestion startled her to the point that her steps faltered and she stopped. "No! I mean, Paris is probably there. And Doyle. Doyle's still afraid of you, so that would take a tense situation and make it more awkward."

"Talking to me is a tense situation?" he asked for clarity.

"No, talking to Paris is a tense situation," she corrected, making him smile and breaking the ice. "Look, Logan. You know you don't owe me anything."

"I know that," he said emphatically. "I'm not trying to make anything up to you, not like that."

"I told you how much I love London and you ask me to go with you? What else do you call that?"

"A favor, to me," he repeated.

"How does my going with you to London qualify as a favor to you? If you're talking about sex, then you did not understand what I said you the other night."

"It's not about sex!" he spit out, wholly frustrated. She had a unique ability to frustrate him, to challenge him, but he had no room for misunderstanding at this point. He needed her to understand, clear as day. "You love London, so if you're with me I'll see the good points. I'll be able to weigh it equally in my mind, to give it a shot. It won't be just this place that will let me escape parts of my life that are difficult."

"Do you mean that?"

He nodded. "I know it might sound crazy, and if you don't want to go, that's okay."

"It sounds more than crazy," she said, though not in a way that sounded negative.

"It's okay to do a few crazy things now and then," he added, playing on her softening.

"I wish it wasn't so easy where you're involved."

She was scared, he could see that. He needed to give her something to believe where he was concerned. "I'm not ready for this to be over yet. I know it doesn't seem logical or likely to work, and I can guess what your reservations are, but I want you to come with me and see what happens anyway."

She stared at him, but it felt like she was seeing into him. "Okay."

She said it so quickly that he thought he'd made it up or she'd coughed and his mind had transferred it to speech. "What?"

She smiled at him. "I said okay. I'll come to London with you."

-X-

"I've missed this. How long as it been since we've had a brunch pig-out at Luke's?" Lorelai asked over platters of pancakes, eggs, and assorted breakfast meats. She was taking a short break from eating to sip her oversized mug of coffee. "And we can do it all week if you like. And what with my being the proprietor's special friend, we can have breakfast for any meal."

"Special friend?" Rory asked as Luke came by with a pot of fresh coffee.

"Will you stop calling me that?" Luke asked Lorelai, slightly harassed and mostly embarrassed.

"Do you really let her order pancakes any time of day?" Rory asked Luke.

"I've told you hundreds of times, breakfast is over at ten for everyone. If I do it for you, I have to do it for everyone," he told Lorelai again.

"You better not do it for everyone," she teased, feigning outrage.

Luke shuddered in mortification. "Your daughter is trying to eat."

"Yeah, what he said," Rory agreed.

Luke refilled Rory's coffee and left without topping Lorelai's off. "Hey!" she called after him. "Mine isn't full!"

"Serves you right. I knew you were full of it, saying Luke would break his rules for you."

"It's not crazy. I just haven't worn him down completely yet. So, what is on your wish list for spring break?" Lorelai asked.

Rory put her fork down and thought. "Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, Parliament, and Piccadilly Circus."

Lorelai frowned. "Those things are in London."

Rory nodded. "I leave tomorrow."

"When did this happen? You aren't going alone, are you? Because it's not safe to travel alone, and you have the world's most willing travel companion at your service," she offered.

Rory pushed some syrup-laden pancake around her plate with her fork. "I'm not going alone."

"Is it a school trip?"

Rory shook her head. "No. A friend has business there and invited me along."

Lorelai stilled. "It isn't Jess, is it?"

Rory was surprised at her conclusion. "What? No, it's not Jess. It's Logan."

Lorelai's expression soured. "I think I would feel better if it were Jess. Wow, I never thought I'd say that sentence."

"What don't you like about Logan?"

"Honestly? I think he's toying with your emotions."

"He's not. He might be a little confused," Rory allowed.

"He's not confused. He wants his cake and to eat it too."

"You don't know him."

"I know enough. You said he has business there, does that mean he's moving to London?"

Rory shrugged and stabbed at a piece of sausage. "He might. He can choose either London or Boston."

"But he's not your boss anymore either way, right? Why are you going?"

"He asked me to. He's not wholly sold on London, and I told him how much I love London, so he thinks I can help him see the opportunity it holds."

"Does he always give you lines like that?" Lorelai asked.

"It wasn't a line," she argued.

"Rory, I get that you like this guy, but you have to be realistic. He's moving, whether it's to another country or just Boston, and his involvement in your life was fickle at best before."

"He wasn't fickle. Neither of us was looking for a major commitment."

"Then why are you traveling to another continent with him?"

"Things are a little undefined right now. He wants to see if there's something more between us. He wanted more time to figure it out."

Lorelai shook her head at her daughter. "I hear a lot of what he wants. What do you want?"

"I'm not sure either. Things aren't that simple. There's the long distance thing and his work and my school," she listed.

"All of that is important, but if he really wants to be with you, none of it should stand in his way. Or yours either. You'll just make it work."

"Maybe this is his way of trying. I know I don't have to give him a chance, I could leave it in the past and tell him to move away and move on, but," she took a breather, realizing that she was making a decision of her own in that moment, "I don't want to. I want to go to London with him. I want to give this a chance."

Lorelai smiled at her, a mix of sadness and acceptance. "If you're sure."

Rory nodded adamantly. "I am."

-X-

"London? A week in London?" Honor asked.

Logan tossed more clothes into his suitcase. "For the third time, yes."

"You're supposed to be making life-altering decisions, not flitting off for a romantic tryst."

He turned and looked at his sister. "I can't do one without the other in this case."

Honor's face melted into pride. "My little brother is growing up!"

He frowned. "Shut up."

"No, seriously. This relationship is significant to you. If it weren't, you'd just move wherever took you furthest from Dad without another thought. You're leaning toward Boston, aren't you?"

He hesitated. "A little." Honor squealed happily. He pointed at her as she clapped. "You can't say anything to Dad, other than I'm weighing my options. Got it?"

"I'm not sure why you think I can't keep a secret from Dad. I have a very long list of things Mom and Dad have no idea about."

"Yeah, your secrets. Mine you auction off to the highest bidder," he reminded her.

"This isn't just about you. And I really like Rory. I think she's perfect for you."

He sat down next to his suitcase. "You do?"

"And do you know why?"

He could think of a great many reasons that he was drawn to Rory, but the reasons why anyone else thought she might be a good match for him were more difficult to understand. "Why?"

"She challenges you, Logan. She isn't always agreeable to whatever you want, she has her own mind, and she inspires you."

"You got all that from talking to her a few times?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I got all that from how different you've been lately. Focused at work. Taking things seriously that you've never bothered with before. How upset you were when things went badly with her in New York. How happy you were when things were going well with her."

"That doesn't matter if she doesn't feel the same way."

"And you care how she feels about you," she added. "I wouldn't worry about that. She's up for the task. That I got from talking to her a few times. No girl would hang out with a guy's sister, even one as awesome as me, if she didn't care about him. And certainly talking to our dad, especially about work, is not for the faint of heart."

"She'd have the nerve to talk to Dad, whether she knew me or not. But that's another thing—I want her to have the option of having a working relationship with him if that's what she wants, and the minute he associates her as my girlfriend, that compromises her status in his mind."

"You can't know what will happen until you try."

"I just don't want to disappoint her."

"So don't," Honor said simply.

-X-

"Can you please get that?" Rory asked, sticking her head out of her bedroom door.

Paris sat on the couch, flipping purposely through a magazine. Rory wasn't sure she'd ever seen Paris do something as wasteful with her time as leaf through a magazine, even if it was _Scientific American_. "I'm kind of busy."

Rory groaned. "Please? I'm almost done packing, just let him in."

"I refuse to take part in this."

"I'm asking you to open your own door, not to carry my bags out to the car."

Paris put down the magazine. "Even just opening the door to that guy would be signaling my acceptance of this ill-fated trip."

"Ill-fated? Don't you think that's a little dramatic? It's not like I'm about to board the _Titanic_," Rory said, still fighting to zip her suitcase. She gave a final tug and gave up when he knocked again. She abandoned the effort, shot daggers at Paris as she passed the couch, and opened the door. "Hey. I'm almost ready."

"I'm a little early. I thought it might take some time to get your bags down to the car."

"She only has two, she's not your usual trophy girl type," Paris defended her friend.

"Hello, Paris, how are you today?" he said, offering none of the bite she'd displayed in return.

"Not great, Logan. Do you think it's fun to watch your friends make colossal mistakes?"

Rory waved her hand in Paris' general direction. "Ignore her. How are you with zippers?"

"I'll bet he's great at them, if it involves taking your clothes off," Paris muttered.

"That's it, I'm buying you a muzzle," Rory informed Paris as she grabbed Logan's hand and pulled him into her bedroom. She shut her door and turned in toward him, set to apologize, but his hands slid over her hips and their bodies pulled together effortlessly as if controlled by magnetic attraction. His lips were on hers before she had a chance to say anything at all, and even the momentary pressure of his mouth on hers threw her train of thought. "Sorry about Paris."

"No worries," he said softly as he let go of her. "This the bag?"

"That's the one," she said. "It's stuck."

He eased the zipper all the way open and guided it back until it was secured. "All done."

"It really was stuck. I wasn't just trying to lure you in here with a lame excuse," she offered, realizing how it must look.

"We don't have enough time for that anyway," he reasoned. "But we do have a whole week to ourselves, don't worry."

"About that," she began, suddenly nervous at broaching the topic. "Maybe we should slow things down."

"You don't want to come with me?" he asked.

"No, it's not that, it's just if you're really going to London to see if it will be a good fit for you, you should focus on your meetings and seeing the city. If we spend the whole week locked away in a hotel room, then you're not really going to get a feel for London."

"I plan on taking this seriously. But I also want us to have a chance to be together, and figure out what we want to do about us."

"I want that too. But maybe taking things slow will help that too."

"Taking it slow, that means no sex, right?"

She smiled sheepishly. "We know that part works. We jumped right into sex, when that's all we wanted. If we want more, we have to focus on the rest of it. Getting to know each other aside from that."

She wasn't sure if he was considering it or regretting the whole offer. His lips set in a line, and he nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" she checked. She wasn't completely certain it was feasible, keeping things between them modest.

"I'd like to think I know you pretty well already, but you do have a point. Do we need separate rooms?"

She shook her head absently. "We can sleep next to each other and just sleep, can't we?"

"Now that's asking a lot," he uttered, his words strangled.

"Too much?" she inquired with concern.

"I'm capable of going without sex, but having you right next to me, rolling over and brushing against me in the night—it might prove to be a challenge to turn away and not touch you."

Her breath came a little faster at his description. "I hadn't thought about that."

"I don't want to break promises to you," he said, his warm brown eyes serious as he looked at her.

"Oh." It was all she could say. There was so much his words inspired, all of it good. But as loquacious as she was capable of being in most areas of her life, such confessions from him effectively silenced her. She always thought words were powerful, but she was finding that sometimes they weren't necessary to convey one's feelings.

"If we're going to share a room, I'll do my best to keep things innocent."

"Fair enough," she agreed, breaking his gaze to grab her carry-on. "All right, I think I have everything."

"Passport?" he checked.

"In my bag," she said, patting her shoulder bag. I would have brought a smaller suitcase, but I kept thinking of things that would have been nice to have last time. There isn't a lot of room in those giant backpacks, which came as kind of a surprise. Plus I wanted a little room for souvenirs," she added.

"I brought three bags," he said, easing her concerns. "I'd have less, but one's just suits for business meetings."

"Makes sense, since for you it's a business trip."

"Don't worry, you're just a little while away from making your own transatlantic flights for work."

"I can only hope," she breathed, hoping to soak in his optimism.

"You have aspirations to be a foreign correspondent, which means you'll be filling up your passports in the blink of an eye."

"Aspirations are different than reality. I've got to graduate before the job offers start rolling in," she said. "And even then it'll be for grunt work."

"You'll have offers before you graduate. You don't have to believe me now, but I've been through it."

She thought about his advice. "Were you offered jobs?"

He smiled tightly. "It's a funny situation to be in, being the son of the head of a media empire. There are two kinds of people who approached me. The first kind was the asshats, who knew fully well that my father would go apoplectic for their even attempting to talk to me about my future elsewhere."

"And the second?" she asked.

"The second were done under the table, respectfully. Some of those were tempting."

"Anything in particular?"

He smiled, his eyes back-lit by the memory. "One. I had a couple of meetings and it seemed like a good fit. A better fit than what my dad had lined out for my post-graduate plans."

"What happened?"

The light that had been in his eyes dimmed. "It didn't work out."

"You turned them down?" she asked for clarification.

"I made the mistake," he began slowly, "of discussing it with someone, to really give it the consideration it deserved."

"Not your dad," she assumed.

"No, my sister."

Rory paled at the mention of her own confidant. "Did she tell your dad?"

"No. But she got to me, with all her importance of family talk. Honor is the one thing that keeps our family together. She's the peacemaker."

"I thought you said she was a pain in the ass?" Rory teased him.

"She's that too. So anyway. That's that."

There was more to say, but like he said, they had the week. She picked up her big suitcase and prepared to exit back past Paris.

"What are you doing?" he asked, easing the handle from her and taking the weight.

"Is this chivalry?" she asked, impressed.

"This is just the beginning," he promised.

"You think you're going to get me to change my mind about sex so easily?"

He grinned at her. "We'll see who cracks first."

"This wasn't meant to be a competition," she complained as they left her room shut up for the break.

"Life's a competition, Gilmore," Paris said from her perch of protest.

"Did you hear something?" she asked Logan.

"I'll miss you, Paris," he said with a syrupy-sweet smile.

"Bite me, frat boy. Here, Rory, at least take this," Paris said as she extended her hand with a small paper in it.

"What's this?"

"Phone numbers for the American Consulate in London and Scotland Yard."

"I'll take good care of her," Logan assured her.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Oh, and Doyle would like a map of the Underground, for his wall."

"Right. I'll see what I can do," Rory said thinly as they exited as swiftly as possible.

Logan paused to look at her. "You ready?"

"London's calling," she agreed heartily.


	12. Our Ideas Held No Water

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: Our Ideas Held No Water

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

AN: Sorry for the delay. RL stuff got louder than the character voices. We're moving (we're in a very long process of moving) so I've basically been writing when I can, but it's not as often as I'd like. I haven't abandoned any fics, they're not just getting updated as fast as usual at the moment.

The drapes were pulled wide open, offering not much more than a dull grey glow to the room. She stood holding a cup of coffee in both hands, clutching it close to her chest for easy sipping access and added heat while staring out at the view. She was joined, the noises of his body shifting on the mattress and his feet hitting the floor the only sounds in the room. He stood next to her, shoulder to shoulder and squinted at the overcast sky.

"It's raining."

She smiled, not looking at him but the city. "It's London."

"I can't see living in a city where it rains so much."

"You'd get used to it. You'd just get better rain gear."

"I hate hats."

She turned to look at him curiously. "You hate hats?"

"I just don't like wearing them," he said with a wide yawn. "Why are you even up, aren't you jet-lagged?"

She lifted the cup a little. "Hence the coffee. It's best to acclimate yourself right away, and we only have a week in London. I don't want to waste a whole day sleeping," she explained, the very idea unthinkable to her mind.

"What's to miss?" he asked skeptically.

Her mouth dropped open. "Get dressed. I'll show you what London has to offer."

He turned toward her, brushing his arm with hers. "Or you could get undressed and come back to bed. Maybe then I'd have a good time in London."

She could feel his eyes on her, roaming down her body, and felt her involuntary response from head to toe. They'd shared a bed for some of the night prior, but she knew that at one point he'd gotten up and occupied the couch in the suite. Exhaustion must have caught up with him, as he was passed out a good six inches from her when she woke up and noticed that the day had dawned, even without the sun visible in the morning sky.

"You know what I think?" she asked, her own eyes straying to his half-covered form. She'd noticed that he rarely wore a shirt at night, and last night had been no exception.

"What's that?"

"I think that London is a far more romantic city than Paris."

He raised an eyebrow, and no doubt he was ready to let her persuade him. "Why is that?"

"Look at the literary history of the two," she offered, pulling the cup up to her lips in effort to avoid kissing him. He hadn't backed off, and even without using his hands he was overwhelming her senses. He was soaking up her personal space, and she found it hard to concentrate on the heat and aroma of her coffee when he offered an equally appealing heat and was practically dousing her in pheromones. She had no idea how she'd last the week and hold out when he chose not to exit the bed upon feeling tempted and was rested enough to act on said temptation. She reminded herself silently that this week was not about sex. She had agreed to help him, and giving into carnal desires wasn't the help he needed.

"You're not going to delve into the wonders of Victorian literature, are you?" he asked in a half cry.

"I could," she said, the offer just as much of a threat as a helpful gesture.

"Is that your offer to lull me back to sleep?" he asked, his boyishly charming smile not helping her quell any desire that had surfaced, even though he was insulting her.

"You brought me with you to help you explore the city. You don't have any meetings until tomorrow, so today is our best shot at getting your feet wet."

"Because we'll be walking in the rain?" he joked.

She looked into his eyes. "I thought you wanted me here to help you."

He sobered at her brevity. "I'm not going to fall in love with London. I've never been in a city that has enamored me in that way. It's just not something I do."

Now her scrutiny mixed with curiosity. "Because you don't fall in love, right?"

He flinched. "Rory, I haven't lied to you. In fact, I've been extraordinarily truthful with you. I'm talking the kind of honesty that I reserve for myself in moments of adversity. When I told you that I don't fall in love, I meant it. I believed it to be true."

"Believed it to be true?" she asked, focused on his choice of verb tense.

"Yes."

She faltered. "What do you believe now?"

He glanced away from her, turning back toward the spotless window. "I believe that I should be glad to be choosing between London and Boston."

"What does that have to do with love?" she asked boldly. She knew she was pushing him further than his comfort zone, but she got the feeling he hadn't been comfortable in some time. He seemed raw and unguarded.

"Why did you come with me?" he asked, not giving her the kind of answer she'd anticipated.

"You asked me to."

"Rory, come on," he said, closing his eyes.

"What? You did. You wanted me to come. We agreed that we'd use the time to see what was between us, which I took to mean that you don't know how you feel about me."

He opened his eyes. "It's not that I'm not sure if I feel something for you. It's coming to terms with what the feeling is."

"Is this some kind of game to you?" she asked harshly.

"It's exactly the opposite, actually," he argued.

"Because it sounds to me like you're afraid of whatever it is you think you feel for me, which makes me wonder why it's necessary for me to hang around while you decide whether or not it's worth your time to face your fears."

His jaw set in a firm line. "Is that what Honor told you?"

"No, it's what you make me feel like, and I don't like it," she said harshly, not bothering to hold back the sharp edges of her inner turmoil.

"Then why did you come?"

Her anger had surfaced and was ready to spill out of her. She put her coffee cup down on the nightstand and whipped around to face him again. "You. Asked. Me. To!"

"You can't pretend like your feelings have nothing to do with this!" he shouted.

"Do they? Does it even matter how I feel about you?" she yelled back.

"Of course it matters! I need to know if you're here on spring break in London or because you hate that our time together in Stamford is over and you want a future with me too."

Her fury was calmed, as she stood blinking at him. It was impossible to be angry when all the air had left not only her body but the room. "You want a future with me?"

-X-

He used to be able to count on common sense and a general sense of self-preservation to guide his speech, but all bets were off when he was in the heat of the moment with her. He never knew what he'd say next, but he knew it would be the truth. It was never an easy truth, either, it was the personal, painful kind that he didn't even like to admit to himself.

He could see the shock on her face, and he knew it would be easy, kind even, to backtrack. But he couldn't lie to her, to save either of them a little discomfort. "I don't want what we have to end. I told you that."

"That is a lot different than wanting a future together and you know it," she said, still appearing good and shell-shocked.

"I'm trying to do what you asked of me, what you want me to do. I had to go and take a cold shower and try to sleep on the sofa, just so I could think about anything other than you last night."

"Then we should get separate rooms, if it's such an inconvenience for you," she said, her words not unlike little razors.

"I don't want separate rooms. I asked you here to spend time with you, not to spend more time apart from you. Surely that much was plain when you agreed to come with me."

"If we have sex, then that's all that will happen this week," she blurted out.

He willed himself not to smile as her words filled him with satisfaction. "Oh really?"

She, however, was not amused. "If sex is all you want from me, then you don't need me. I'm sure there are plenty of women in London and Boston that can take my place."

"I don't want to have sex with anyone else," he replied, feeling selfish at the admission. "Is that why you suggested not having sex? You thought I'd grow bored and move on?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "It wasn't a conscious reason, but maybe, a little," she admitted.

"If we do this, I want you to know that I'll be fully committed."

"If we do this, it will be hard, Logan. Long distance, really, even with you in Boston. It wouldn't be like before, seeing each other twice a week, with easy drop-ins whenever the mood struck you. You would be giving up sex, just like this week, because I wouldn't always be around when the mood strikes."

"I can go without sex," he said adamantly.

"Logan, I need you to employ some of that brutal honesty now. It's okay to enjoy sex and to want it. I do. And if you're used to having it whenever you want it, then it can be hard to suddenly have to wait for it."

"What makes you think I've never had to go without it before?" he demanded.

She blushed and shifted her weight. "Honor mentioned something to that fact."

"My sister should not be your source of information about my sex life," he said at a near growl.

"Don't be mad at her. She was being nice to me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means if we're going to have a relationship, it has to be between us, separate from you working for my dad or hanging out with my sister."

"You want me to cut ties with your family to date you?" she asked, clearly not excited by the possibility.

"Not cut ties, just keep them removed from one another. It's in your best interest, believe me."

"I don't understand. Do you really not trust them at all?" she asked, bewildered.

"It's complicated. Over time, you'll understand, but I can't explain much more right now."

"Maybe it's too complicated," she offered, testing him.

"Maybe it is. But we're here, and I'll do whatever you want if you agree to give this a shot."

She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Her brow furrowed and she looked out again at the skyline over the Thames. "We should get dressed. The city's waiting."

"You'll still be my tour guide?" he asked.

She let out a breath. "I can show you my favorite parts of London. I can't show you how to be in love."

"If it's as romantic as you say, one might take care of the other," he said, his words once again giving him away.

If she had a reaction to what he said, she kept her emotions in check. She heard him, he was sure, but she simply nodded. "I'll get dressed. We should probably get breakfast first, we'll be doing a lot of walking."

He was spent as he watched her gather her clothes and disappear into the bathroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed, wondering just what he was about to put himself through.

-X-

London had been her first experience of knowing a city before she'd ever seen it with her own eyes. Her first visit had been as if she'd been putting together pieces of a grand puzzle she'd known only as pages from books. She was glad to get another chance to wander around and rediscover places she'd first been in her imagination. She'd fallen in love with London years ago, but she was wary of falling in love with Logan. Even scarier was the notion of him falling in love with her.

"Where to next?" he asked, pulling his jacket closed and securing the buttons.

She kept her pace steady, not wanting to buckle to the urge to slow down or slip into any of the numerous alleys provided on the streets of London. His honesty had freaked her out, but she was also wont to let him act on these feelings he'd developed for her. They hadn't been intimate since his supposed realization, and she had a feeling that giving into their increasing desires would seal their fate. They'd enter into something more serious, whether it was to their benefit or their detriment. She wasn't sure she was ready for that, and so she was glad he had remained true to his word. He might try to wear her down, but he'd not make the first move. She would just have to be strong.

"It's the oldest bookstore in the city," she said, keeping her eyes ahead of her.

"That should have been my first guess," he said with easy familiarity. He thought he knew her, or at least enough about her. She would have to prove to him that he'd only gotten a glimpse of her life. Knowing her body was not the same as knowing her mind.

"The city is full of possibilities. If you'd rather go somewhere else," she offered.

He slipped his hand into hers, his grip easing her back in effort to slow her steps. She stared down at their joined hands as if it were a mild disruption. "I want to see your favorite places."

"It's boggling, the history of the building alone. If the opportunity presented itself, I'd probably upturn my whole life and work there as a shopkeeper."

She'd matched his steps, walking along with her hand still firmly entwined with his. At least she was wearing gloves, keeping their skin from igniting some kind of nuclear reaction. "Does anyone use the term shopkeeper anymore?" he pondered.

"I do," she said. "I don't think enough people appreciate the origins of language, the way it's evolved. They say what they say, and they don't worry about how it came to be."

"It's a good thing we have people like you around to keep us in line," he complimented her.

"I just hate that so many people talk in text speak. No one is going to broaden their minds by using the same, tired abbreviations over and over."

"I can attest to the loquacious nature of your texts," he said, drawing her memory away from London and to the act he was referring to.

"That's embarrassing," she said, her final word on the matter.

"Believe me, that was nothing to be embarrassed about. It was sexy."

She ducked her chin, turning her head just enough to look at him finally. "Yeah?"

"I was at the office that night, trying to work on budget reports."

She eyed him curiously. "We were texting back and forth until three."

"I didn't say I got any work done," he explained with a pleased smirk.

"I didn't mean to distract you," she said, feeling guilty at keeping him from a job that now didn't exist.

He laughed. "Were you able to get anything else accomplished that night?"

She blushed then, heat rushing to her cheeks as she remembered exactly what she'd felt and done while she read his responses—his suggestions. "I… no, I didn't."

"Rory?" he asked, ready to make a serious inquiry.

She stopped then with him, on the sidewalk. They were nearing an intersection and not far from their destination. The store was up ahead, in a mishmash of buildings that were crammed together in a row.

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

Her heart leapt up, causing her to feel dangerously unstable. "Um, I guess so."

He leaned in, not to kiss her but to speak. "If you'd rather I didn't, I won't."

"A kiss is okay," she assured him quickly, not wanting to belabor the moment lest it disappear.

He didn't rush into it at her acceptance, but the tension did not dissipate. His hand slid against her cheek, his bare fingers grazing her jaw and hooking under her ear as he drew in closer to her. Once anchored, his eyes searched hers, leaving her without speech or breath, glad she wouldn't need either for the interim. Her eyes fluttered shut as his lips met hers. For all the privacy their suite afforded them, the most intimate moment they'd shared since landing in London was happening on the street, surrounded by strangers.

"Logan," she said when she caught her breath after the dizzying gesture.

"We should go look at books," he said, though he didn't sound much like he wanted to look at books.

"Yes. Books. It's why everyone comes to London," she joked weakly.

"It's why you'd come to London," he said.

"It has things you like, too," she argued cheerfully.

"Such as?" he led.

"Beer."

He looked at her quizzically. "Beer? That's what you came up with for why I might stay in London?"

"You like beer."

"I do like beer. But not enough to move to another country."

"What would make you want to move to another country?" she asked seriously as they continued down Piccadilly toward their destination.

"The opportunity to better my situation, I suppose," he said.

"There's your measuring stick, then," she said brightly.

"You like finding solutions, don't you?"

"I guess so. I'm very good at working things out logistically."

"Yes, you're great at logistics," he said, opening the door for her. "We're here."

"Have you been here before?" she asked, more than a little disappointed.

He smiled, the only answer she needed. "Sorry, Ace. I like books, too."

She sighed, feeling defeated. "Just go inside. And wipe the smile off your face. It's annoying."

-X-

The kiss was electrifying. It caught her attention as well, that much he knew. She looked at him differently after he kissed her, and he knew that while she still needed more that she could depend on from him, she was almost over that fence.

"Have you read this?" he asked from across the aisle, holding up a book.

She wrinkled her nose. "Yes. Have you?"

He made an 'O' with his lips. "That bad?"

"The writing was good, it's just… the main character's a jerk."

"But the author provoked you emotionally. That's the whole point."

"That may be true, but I didn't want to invest my time in a bad character. It's a waste."

"I can't believe you'd ever argue that reading anything is a waste," he said, putting the book back on the shelf.

"I told you, you didn't know everything about me," she said with a pleased smile.

"Do you want me to know everything about you?" he posed, sure he knew the answer to the question he'd asked.

She froze, her hand pausing mid-skim over the top of a row of books. "What?"

He scanned the spines of books, finally turning and resting against the shelves and crossing his arms over his chest as he faced her. "I was just thinking about what you said about that book. It was a good book, but you didn't like the main character and therefore it soured your whole experience. Are you afraid that we might get into this and find out that we don't like each other?"

"I know we both have faults. You've been really open about who you are, at least, I think you have been," she said.

"What about you?" he asked.

"I'm not hiding anything, but I've always tried to keep parts of my life separate. I have my home life and my school life. My friends and my family. The only person that transcends all that is my mom. It's never gone particularly well for me to blend the components together. It never seems to fit right."

"You don't want me to be a part of your life?"

She glared at him. "Do you want to be in all the different parts of my life? Can you be, with you so far away? Even if you chose Boston, I'd barely get to see you. It wouldn't be like before, and you were pretty compartmentalized in my life then."

"The same can be said for you in my life," he said calmly, despite the face she sounded fairly rattled by the turn the conversation had gone. "And I'm not complaining."

"Logan, I've met your dad and your sister, I've seen you at work and at functions. I've been in your house. What part of your life was I not in?"

"You haven't met my friends or my parents as my girlfriend."

"How could that be different than how I've already met your dad?"

"Right now my father respects your aspirations. He sees you as a capable young journalist, who is well on her way to being a contributing member of his profession."

"And what would change once he knew me as your girlfriend?" she asked, ready to dismiss his opinions.

"He'd view you as misguided in your choices. He'd challenge your desire to be with me, when you're so focused on your career—he'd grill you on how you'd make choices when it came to choosing your family or your career."

"Because it's 1950 and women can't focus on more than one thing, lest they get confused?" she asked, the whole idea turning her stomach. He didn't blame her, but she needed the dose of reality. Full disclosure was his only option. Putting her in such situations unknowingly later on would prove far more detrimental. Best to scare her off before they got serious. If she walked away now, he'd have a couple of rough weeks and move on—at least that was the outcome he aspired to.

"I never said he was right in any way, shape, or form," he defended himself.

"What about you? Do you want to be with someone who lives to take care of your schedule, or do you want a woman who is secure in her own life; who enjoys her work and makes a difference in society?"

"I could care less," he said, surprising her.

"You don't care at all?"

"As long as this someone that I love is happy? Then, no, it doesn't matter to me at all how she spends her days. I've spent my whole life in a family where love and respect was contingent on living up to pre-conceived roles. If I didn't work for my father, I'm not sure he'd view me as his son."

She took in his depiction. "That sounds harsh."

"It is harsh. My father is a tough man. He's not easy to get along with or be related to. If things are going his way, he's more amicable, but that isn't always the case. I would love for you to be able to keep your relationship with him as it is now—for him to see you as an asset, which will allow it to benefit you as it may. And if that's why you decide that you're done after this trip, I get that."

"Logan, no. I would never," she said, moving to him. "That would never be a reason for me not to be with you. I don't care what your father thinks."

"Even if it impacted your career?"

"I just can't believe that being with you would make me less of a journalist," she said.

"It won't actually weaken your skills," he said wearily. "My father will question your judgment."

"Because I can't have it all?" she asked.

"No, for choosing me in the first place," he said bluntly.

-X-

She believed women could have it all, as so many people liked to say. The truth was she'd never really wanted to have it all. She'd never dreamed of getting married or having kids. She'd dreamed of winning awards for her talents and traveling. That wasn't to say she would rule out having a family, but it simply never entered her picture of her future goals. Certainly she'd never envisioned herself arguing the point in the very bookstore frequented by the Royal Family.

They'd moved on, without making a purchase because that was the point of window shopping and browsing, and moved to her next selection on her favorites of London list.

"I know you're going to say it's stupid and touristy and you've probably already done it, but I don't care," she said as they got on line for tickets.

Logan looked up to the towering structure that loomed overhead. "It probably is stupid and touristy, but I've never been on it."

She smiled. "Really? That makes two of us," she said.

"I thought you were taking me to your favorite parts of London," he corrected.

"This will show us a ton of London, and we ran out of time when I was here after high school."

"It'll also close us in a small space for an extended period of time," he said, eyeing her appreciatively. "Unless you jump out."

"What might you do to make me consider jumping?" she asked, turning it back to him.

"With you, I never know," he said mysteriously.

"Two please," she said as they got to the counter.

"Let me," he said, pulling out his wallet.

"My tour, my money," she argued, in an attempt to shut him down.

"Yes, but you're my guest on this trip, so my money," he said, pushing his credit card to the ticket issuer before she could argue further.

"It's stuff like that," she muttered as he accepted their tickets.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"That would make me consider jumping," she clarified.

He smiled. "I see."

"Do you really have to roll over me like that?" she asked, still irritated.

He leaned in at her side. "I think we both know I prefer you to be on top."

She shot him a look of pure disgust, with underlying desire, which only served to fuel her overriding emotion. "Stop it."

"I didn't touch you," he said, holding up his hands by way of offering his innocence.

"No, but you want to," she shot back.

She had him there. He wanted to. He'd already kissed her, though she supposed kissing was considered a slower pace than their standard. She wanted him to touch her, truth be told, but it wouldn't provide them any answers. It wouldn't make the reality of their situation any different. It would feel good in the moment and serve to make them regret even the best of intentions later on.

"At some point you are going to realize that this whole not having sex thing isn't going to work, right?" he inquired.

"We're learning more about each other," she offered, doing her best to combat his question.

He scoffed. "Have you gained one positive piece of information about me since we landed in London?"

"I know you value family, even though it hurts you," she said quietly.

He looked at her, taken aback. "Yes."

"I'm not saying I'm eager to show up for a dinner at your parents' house as your date, but I think it's noble that you sacrifice your own happiness out of that kind of duty. Not many people do that anymore."

"You make me sound like one of your outdated Victorian novels."

"Your father's ideas about a woman's place are far more outdated than those."

"It's not women—it's married women. He thinks women should support their husbands. And yes, it's pre-war, misogynic, and abhorrent, but it's just his opinion."

"Will you follow his ideals instead of your own your whole life?"

"No," he said resolutely, without taking time to think about it. He'd already thought about it.

She pressed on. "Will you work for him forever?"

He met her eyes, guilt weighing heavily on him. "Probably not."

She eyed the line as they moved forward in it. "Have you told him this?"

"Sure, during the occasional screaming match. He doesn't believe me, and I let him continue to think it's an empty threat."

"What are you waiting for?" she asked, finally feeling like she was seeing the real him.

He leaned back against the rail as the line ceased. "There will be a breaking point. I'm not sure what it will be, but there will be some concession he'll expect of me that I won't be able to bend on. As much as I disagree with him, fundamentally we're very much alike. Neither of us will give and something will break—and I'll be done. Sometimes I wonder if he'll even try to stop me."

"But the decision between Boston and London isn't it?" she garnered.

He stared out over the crowd. "Not yet, anyway."

-X-

Jet lag had long since caught up with him, and keeping his distance from her while they spent the whole day talking and getting to know one another had not helped his exhaustion. At times it had been nearly impossible not to grab her and kiss her—just as he knew there had been times she'd had trouble not taking off in frustration.

He sat down heavily on the bed, kicking his shoes off as if he were ridding himself of lead weights. She'd come in after him, putting her damp outerwear up on a hanger before approaching the bed.

"If it makes you any more comfortable, I'm too tired to sit up much longer, let alone sexually harass you."

"It's not harassment," she said, but she failed to move any closer to him or the bed.

He pulled his shirt up his back and tossed it on a chair. He wondered how badly she wanted him to fold it up and place it back in his suitcase. "Fine, then unwelcome advances," he argued semantics, but his heart wasn't in it.

She stepped forward and sat down on the bed, surprisingly on the same side of the bed that he was occupying. It woke him up considerably. He waited for her to speak.

"Getting to know you better made it more difficult," she said as her fingers traced the lines of the pattern on the bedspread.

"To be here with me?" he asked.

"To be here with you and attempt to hold back affection," she corrected. "Logan, maybe," she said, sucking in her breath as she cut off.

"I haven't worn you down," he said, hating that he had to circumvent her readiness.

She blinked at him in surprised. "What?"

"We've only been here a day. You don't give up after a day, no matter what. I'm not even putting much pressure on you."

Her mouth dropped open at his point of view. "Not much pressure? But that kiss," she said, outraged.

His mind filled with the memory of that kiss—the tang of her lips and the heat from her tongue and the way she'd given a tiny gasp at the end. He closed his eyes and smiled. "It was a good kiss."

"A really, really good kiss," she said. He opened his eyes to see that hers were trained on his lips.

"You want to try it again?" he asked at a whisper.

She nodded and scooted closer to him. He put his hand down on the mattress next to her hip, pushing down as he eased his weight on his hand. He leaned in and paused as she closed her eyes. "Just a kiss."

At her confirmation, she lifted her chin and he allowed himself the pleasure of reacting to her cues. The gesture was soft and slow. He rested his other hand on her hip, though she wasn't going anywhere. She put her hand over his and gripped his hand tightly enough that her nails dug into his palm.

He rested his forehead against hers when he finally needed to catch his breath. His heart hammered in his chest and his body begged for more, but he kept all that at bay. "Let's go to sleep."

"Okay," she whispered, as if it were a perfectly reasonable request. She let go of him and pulled back, leaving him to finish undressing for bed as she did the same on the opposite side of the room. They went about their business silently, each keeping their back to the other for a semblance of privacy without hiding from sight. When she slid in next to him, he extended an arm, allowing her to curl up against his chest as opposed to the way they lay apart the night before. He'd already closed his eyes as he turned his head toward hers, pressing his lips into her hair.

She angled her chin up to look at him. "Is this okay?"

He brushed her hair back off her shoulder. "This is perfect."

She offered a smile and the briefest nod. "Goodnight, Logan."

"Goodnight, Rory."


	13. We Just Built That Good God Dam

Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: We Just Built That Good God Dam

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

She woke up encased in his arms, enveloped in warmth that she didn't attribute to just from being under the bed sheets with her bare skin pressed against his. It evoked an emotion she wasn't acclimated to—a general contentment of being somewhere she belonged, or on the path to getting something she wanted. Nothing about waking up in a hotel bed in London to his alarm call should have filled her with so much ease, and panic set in as the sleep wore off and her mind attempted to come to grips with her feelings.

She sat up suddenly so that her back was painfully straight, alert in a sudden way, and she felt his hand spread out on her thigh in response. "It's just my alarm," he murmured into the pillow. "You don't have to get up."

"I'm awake," she said, the urge to get out of bed and be on her feet spreading through her like quick-burning fire.

He pushed himself up on one arm, curling his body around her semi-prone one. His face nuzzled the small of her back and she felt the gentle burn of his unshaven face as he dragged his cheek across her skin pressed his mouth over her spine. It was almost enough to make her forget that what she was experiencing had nothing to do with her regular life; that it wasn't meant to become the norm. If only she could trick her mind into thinking that this was what it could be like, being with Logan—being his girlfriend. It was then it hit her—she had no idea what it would be like. So far her expectations were rooted in being the woman he sought out for an evening of physical contact. So much of her confusion about him stemmed from the fact that what they'd labeled as casual sex offered much more than that. She'd found herself hanging out with him even without the guise of sex, enjoying his company, and noting things she knew he would enjoy.

She sank back down to the mattress slowly, turning back in to face him. His hair was matted down in some spots and sticking up in others, and his eyes weren't open more than half-mast, but his hands were touching her mindfully and there were other parts of him, pressed into her, that were very much operating at full attention. She moaned softly, inadvertently, and he paused.

"Sorry," he said in an exhale, nuzzling her chin. "I was having this dream and then the alarm went off and I didn't want you to leave the bed yet."

She reached out to try to guide his hair into one direction instead of four. "What was the dream about?"

His eyes opened fully, warm brown chocolate irises outlined by his full dark lashes. "You, in my bed, not unlike this. Apparently my unconscious mind is trying to make up for the fact we're not being intimate."

She swallowed, feeling even more heat generating between their bodies. "Your hand is about an inch away from being very intimate," she pointed out, a gentle reminder.

That hand squeezed her leg, but he didn't move it. "I should get ready for my meetings. They start early and will probably drag on all day."

"Then you should have some fun now," she said, still at a whisper, but a lot more play in her voice. She kept her eyes on his as she lowered her hand and put it over his, guiding it that last inch she'd spoken of earlier. His hands were warm and his fingers soft as she pressed into her.

"What changed your mind?" he asked, as they hung in that moment, his hand encased by hers. Seeing the effect such a simple act on her part made on him was electrifying.

"Waking up with you felt normal," she began, wondering if she would be able to explain what she'd felt as elegantly as she'd experienced it.

"It's not the first time," he reasoned.

"I know, it's just this was the first time I felt like this. I can tell myself that this will never work, and I can come up with a million different reasons why I'm probably crazy for feeling the way I do, but what I can't seem to do is stop myself from wanting to be with you."

His mouth was on hers the moment she stopped speaking, taking her breath away along with any further need for explanation. Her consent was given, and he was once again afforded free reign on how and when to express himself to her. The only thought she had was what his dream must have involved, as she arched into the sensation of his lips grazing down the curves of her torso toward her belly button. That was the last thought she was capable of forming with any coherency.

-X-

She kept saying his name, the cadence of the syllables rolling off her tongue like honey. The taste of her was sweet with a slight mix of saltiness, and he couldn't get enough. Honestly it didn't matter to him why she'd broken her resolve, if it started his day off like that. Her cries got sharper and more insistent, and before he knew it either she was confusing him with a deity or she was experiencing a little bit of heaven at his hand.

It took her a while to stabilize, small aftershocks triggering underneath him. He had no time to find any kind of similar satisfaction, other than knowing she would be ready and available for a second go-around once he returned from his mandatory work commitments. He was more than a bit tempted to blow it off to stay in bed with her; he knew it would be physically difficult to carry out his duty. He took his solace in knowing he did his duty to her first.

Her eyes were closed and her hand was placed over her heart, the only part of her chest that was obscured. He hated to shatter her afterglow moment. "I should go shower."

She nodded, but reached out for him. Her nails dug in a little too deeply into his shoulder, but he didn't mind. "Already?"

He smiled. "You want me to stay?"

He wanted to hear her say it, but he wasn't sure she would. "I know you have to go, I just thought you'd want to stay long enough to finish," she said, trailing off as the words they were both thinking hung between them.

"I do want to," he agreed. "But it'll give me something to think about all day, when I grow tired of the endless talk of projections and budgets."

She smiled, shyly, and it made his heart contract a little. "You do realize I won't just be laying here naked and waiting all day, right?"

He groaned and slid his hand down her side, the smooth curves acting as a magnet to his palm. "You're not allowed to dictate my fantasy."

Her smile was far more brilliant now. "You fantasize about me?"

He kissed her again, hungry yet quick. "You have no idea."

She licked her lip, a wholly distracting act on her part. "If we're going to do this, whatever it is," she added hastily, "it's more than just sex and fantasy, right? That was fine, before."

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm. "It's more than that. It wasn't enough before, that's why I want to try this. Enjoy your day, enjoy the city. I'm okay with you having a mini-love affair with in it my stead," he said.

"You aren't falling in love with London at all?" she asked, clearly a little disappointed.

"I'm enjoying it through your eyes," he said as he extracted himself from her and the bed. He was there and had to be on a schedule part of the time. "But you won't be here always, unless there's something you're not telling me."

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out at first. "Logan. I can't…I can't follow you. I can't follow anyone, not right now, not for anything. I can't ask you to make that same sacrifice either. I want to try to make this work, but you should know that."

"I wouldn't ask you to do that. You're in school and it wouldn't be fair."

She seemed unnerved to ask her next question. "You aren't thinking about basing any decisions on me, are you?"

"It's one thing to ask someone to change their plans. It's another to want to alter your life to make it better. Until I started at Stamford, I thought all the jobs I did for my father were basically the same, with a little repackaging. In one way, it was true. Nothing I did made a difference in my father's decisions. But I found myself looking forward to being there, being with you. I'd like to know that if I make that decision, to be closer to you, you'll be okay with that."

He was sure he had done nothing at all to alleviate her trepidation. "I am never going to fault you for making your own decisions. I'll work on reconciling it all."

He just nodded then. He couldn't ask for more at that point.

-X-

He said he understood her concerns and that it wasn't something he'd ask of her. It didn't stop the feeling of trying to stabilize while on shifting sand. She'd said she wouldn't follow him, not to convince him so much as to remind herself. The lure of London was big enough, should he make such an offer, she knew she would consider it, if only briefly. The fact that she would even take time to consider that scared her to death. Nothing had ever been more important than her education, and she knew she had made the right decision by selecting Yale in the first place. Her logical nature allowed her to realize there were universities in London, any of which could offer her a good education, but she would always wonder if she made the right choice by leaving Yale, especially for another person.

All that thinking and agonizing led to her staying in bed not only as he got ready, but after he left. She never did fall back asleep as she'd hoped. She wasn't doing herself any favors by worrying about the matter, and she was afforded the luxury of being in her favorite city without having to try to get him to love it too. She finally got ready and set out to wander the streets on her own time. If she couldn't quiet her mind with answers, she could distract herself instead.

She was roaming around a street market, browsing through books both old and very old, when her cell phone rang. She plucked it out of her shoulder bag and paused when she saw the registered caller ID. She knew it wasn't a call she could avoid forever. "Hello?"

"How's jolly old England?"

Rory wasn't about to offer up every answer in a forthcoming manner. "Isn't it the middle of the night there?"

"I'm in Barcelona for a few days. A sorority sister is marrying a Spaniard, which makes me a little jealous, but at least it gets me a few days of sangria and poolside leisure. It's a balance," Honor explained.

"You love Josh," Rory reminded her.

"Of course I love Josh. But I wouldn't complain if he doubled as my Spanish lover."

"I'm starting to understand why Logan wants to bang his head against the wall after a few minutes of talking to you," Rory commented as she flipped gingerly through an old volume of poetry.

"Don't be that way. If you take his side, no one wins," Honor mewed. "Besides, he gets bored without a challenge. You are the perfect challenge."

"I'm not a challenge. I'm as uncomplicated and simple as it gets. I like my coffee black and anything on my pizza," she said diplomatically.

"You're a woman that doesn't care about what my brother can give you. Start correcting me when I'm wrong."

"I care how he treats me," she said. "And how often I get to see him."

"And how is my brother treating you?"

"I can't complain," Rory said discreetly. She put down one book and picked up another, trying to not break from her activity for the intrusion.

"Rory, you're going to have to give me something to work with."

"Honor, I appreciate your friendship, but I don't need help with your brother. In fact, I think he pretty much hates the fact we talk at all, but especially about him."

"He exaggerates. So, things must be going very well if you think you've got him under control."

"I don't think I have him under control. I don't want to control him; I want to date him. Can you appreciate the difference?"

Honor squealed, startling Rory and nearly causing her to drop her phone onto a pile of boxed up books. "I knew it!"

"It's not that surprising that we've decided to date a little more officially."

"The two of you? I thought it would take drastic action to get either of you to admit what you were even considering doing more than hooking up," she said, still acclimating to the news.

"I get it, we're both stubborn. I never said we were without flaws."

"I need details. What, when, how, and why?"

"Some things are better left with a little mystery," Rory deflected.

"Meaning he would die if he knew you told me?" she surmised.

"Pretty much, yes."

"And you don't like to discuss your sex life."

"In fact, I don't. Especially with his sister," she said delicately. "It's not all about sex though. I can't help wondering what might come of it. It doesn't even make sense, really, the two of us."

"Please. Do you think any of my friends understood why I ever dated Josh?"

"Come to think of it, probably not," Rory said. Josh was one of the most normal guys she'd ever met, making him Honor's polar opposite.

"He grounds me. He's the yin to my yang. And I can be myself around him, in a way that you can't with some people. I get tired of being on all the time."

"I can imagine that would be tiring," Rory teased lightly, now smiling as the conversation drifted away from focusing on her.

"Hah. Anyway, if that's how you feel about my brother, then I will be your biggest cheerleader. I want him to be happy. He's happy when he's with you. And when he's unhappy, frankly he's insufferable."

"How could I not be happy? I'm in London, it's spring break, and I have dinner plans with my boyfriend," Rory rattled off, trying the word out in relation to Logan.

"Should things go south for any reason, don't hesitate to call. If it gets truly dire, I can have a private plane pick you up and bring you here. There are no shortage of hot Spanish men, all wearing tight pants and buying drinks for the single ladies. There is no better revenge, trust me."

"Pre-Josh experience?" Rory guessed.

"That and the story of how I ended up spending a semester abroad in Spain. A story for another time, perhaps."

"After I get back, we'll get together," Rory promised. "I have no wish to leave London early. Things are going well, really, better than I expected."

"I'm glad. Tell Logan hello for me. God knows he won't take my calls right now."

"I will," Rory promised as they disconnected. It never failed to amaze her at how much more lavish a life Honor seemed to be leading, no matter how good Rory's circumstances were in comparison. She wouldn't trade places with her for anything in the world, but it was like touching base with an alternate reality. Unfortunately for Logan, that alternate reality was a part of his everyday life. She wondered if what Honor had said was true for him, that she was a challenge in the fact that she was so different and her expectations were so radically different than his. Certainly what constituted normal for her was nothing like what Honor experienced. She hoped the novelty wouldn't soon wear off, once he spent enough time with her to see just how simple her life was, no matter how big her dreams were. She could achieve her utmost accomplishments for the future and still not come close to earning the kind of salary he found standard or even lacking. Trips like the one she was enjoying were still a big deal and not in her reach on her own, whereas it wasn't even a mild setback for him to take off to far more exotic locales on a whim if all his colorful anecdotes were to be believed.

One thing became crystal clear—when it came to Logan, distractions were of no use either. She was going to have to come to terms with what it meant to date him, and quick.

-X-

He stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conference room he'd just spent four hours being bored nearly to death within. Not only was London not his cup of tea, but the job wasn't how he wanted to spend any part of his life. He knew it was more than the fact that he'd never been excited to follow orders handed down from up high. He had no misconceptions that it would be any different in Boston—just a different skyline with fewer grey clouds per year. Different men in similar suits, all making him feel wholly uninspired.

"Hell of a view, isn't it?"

Logan looked up to see another man a few years older than he come into the otherwise empty space. He joined him at the window, staring out appreciatively. Not quite the way Rory had gazed outside, but far more favorably than he. "It's encompassing."

"I jumped at the chance to transfer from the New York office."

He nodded amicably. He wasn't in the habit of encouraging conversations he had no intention of participating in. "It's got a lot to offer."

"Let me guess. You aren't convinced it's for you."

Logan flickered his gaze to the stranger, who might be his co-worker, should he be tempted to truly consider a trans-Atlantic move. "Not exactly."

"You need to be convinced," he suggested.

Logan smirked at him. "I have perhaps the one woman in the world who loves nothing quite as much as she does this city. If she can't convince me, I doubt anyone could."

"Give her a little time. Didn't you just get here?"

"I'm sorry, have we met?"

He extended a hand. "Tim Jacobs. I was asked to look after you, make sure you had everything you needed while you were here."

Logan frowned. "I'm sorry, who asked you to do that exactly?"

Tim appeared flummoxed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Logan said with very clear enunciation, "who exactly asked you to perform this task?"

He frowned. "My boss."

"And just who is your boss?"

"The senior vice president of operations."

"Which makes his boss," Logan led, more of a question than a statement.

"What does that matter?"

"Because," Logan explained, "you're high enough up on the food chain to at least know what my last name connotes, unless you're a complete idiot, and I don't believe that you are. I'm absolutely certain that your boss knows who I am and why I'm here, and that I need persuading to make a choice to be here, as his boss is my father. Which, in my experience means that it was, in fact, my father who asked your boss to ask you to befriend me, find me alone, and suggest that you show me the real London, outside the office."

"You seem offended; that wasn't my intent."

"I'm sure you're a great guy, good at your job, and that you really are glad you moved here. But I don't need to be taken to have a good time or see neighborhoods. I'm here with a girl, she's shown me all the neighborhoods while highlighting in long-winded detail about the history and the fashion and the culture that even put guidebooks to shame. The thing is, she's not going to be in London after this week, and if I were here all I'd be doing is counting down the days until my next assignment came due and I could go back to the States and be closer to her."

"Okay," Tim said, obviously taking in more information than he'd bargained for. "Your dad must know that, so why are you here?"

"Because he wants to give me the illusion of choice in my life. And he doesn't understand what I'm willing to do to be with this girl. Mostly because even I don't know what I'd be willing to do to be with this girl."

Tim checked his watch. "So, you don't want to go to a pub?"

Logan shook his head, making a decision in that moment. "I have somewhere to be."

"See you tomorrow, then," he said, as if out a corporate playbook.

"I sincerely doubt it. Nice to meet you, though."

Tim just stared at him as he made for the exit as fast as possible. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed. "Rory? Where are you, right now?"

-X-

She stared at him, the wind whipping her hair around, even though it was pulled back and secured at the nape of her neck. It was long and curling around her shoulders and sticking to her glossy lips. "It's early. The sun is still up."

He smiled and stepped up to her. "Have you ever been to Paris?"

She looked around, amused. "Yes, why?"

"It's a quick trip. Is there anywhere else you'd like to see, other than London?"

"Logan, what gives? You have meetings for two more days at least," she said. "We won't have time to leave the city, let alone the country."

"I'll make time. Forget the meetings. Where do you want to go?"

She took a breath, attempting to slow his seemingly manic suggestion. She put a hand on his chest. "We should go back to the hotel and talk, maybe."

He shook his head. "I don't want to be in London. I don't want to be in Boston. I don't want to make this choice, don't you see? That's why I couldn't make it."

"You haven't had time to make it," she said, trying to stay supportive and keep him from acting rashly. "Not really."

"I have. I've had my whole life, and I've been avoiding it, hoping that at some point it would either set in and feel familiar and right like a song you find yourself singing along to that you don't even like, but you know it too well not to chime in on, or that I'd just stop fighting it, and give in."

"That's depressing," she said, still standing on the street, outside the tiny restaurant where she'd had a late lunch, anticipating him not returning early enough for anything other than a late dinner and perhaps a late show of something quirky and avant-garde on the West End. He'd hate it and she'd mock it and they'd end up laughing and kissing rather than attempting to pretend to appreciate it at all.

"I want more. I want options. I want to take you places; I want to be able to have a life that I enjoy. So I'm going to start doing all that."

She was still wary. "Starting my taking me to Paris?"

He took her hand. "I'd love to take you to Paris."

Her mouth opened in surprise, deciding to test his sincerity and his state of mind. "How do you feel about Prague?"

His eyes lit up. "You want to go to Prague?"

"I loved Prague," she said. "We were only there for a day, like so many other places we went, we didn't have enough time for it all. We couldn't even get to Morocco. There are so many places I want to go, but haven't had the opportunity. South America, Japan, not to mention South Africa," she said, getting ahead of herself. "Not that it's practical for us to just jet off to South Africa."

"Screw practical. I want to be happy," he said, his eyes shining and ready to make promises.

"I want to be happy, too," she said, still concerned about him and his sanity. She wanted to ask him just what had happened at the office, but she held back. "But what about your job? What about your dad?"

"I don't know," he said, not coming wholly to his senses but calming from his peak. "I don't care. I just know that I'm tired of trying to fit the model of a man I don't want to be. Can you understand that?"

She nodded, not having words to comfort him. Instead of words, she stepped forward, pulling herself in to him as she anchored her hands on his forearms. "Let's go back to the hotel. We can talk or not… whatever you want."

He nodded, but seemed to remember something. "Go ahead back without me. I have to make a call, and I'll be there soon."

"Logan… you don't have to make any decisions right this second. You can take time, wait until we're home, and things might seem less… dire."

"It won't matter. I've hit my limit. My father wanted me to think I had a choice, but after the first meeting a guy came up to me and told me that he'd been assigned to get me to enjoy London so I'd find my place here. Guess who was behind that prompting?"

She looked down. She didn't have to guess. "He wants you here."

"He knew you were coming here with me—I'm certain Honor told him. I wondered why he didn't put a stop to it, and it didn't make sense. He's been doing all these things that made no sense to me, that he's never done before. Now it makes perfect sense."

She wasn't making the connections he was. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not the only one that's tired of these games. Not only does he realize I'm close to the edge, but he decided to change it up, and pretend that this time it's different so I might somehow experience it as being different—that for once I might do exactly what he wants while thinking it's my idea."

"That's manipulative and petulant," she said, not defending his father but unsure any father would pull such a stunt on their child.

"He's been manipulating me my whole life. He sees people as tools to serve his needs. You should be pissed too—he's using you as an incentive for me, to get me to have a good time this week. It ensured that we'd be apart after that and he wouldn't have to worry how much I liked you because it's next to impossible to keep a relationship going via long distance for any real amount of time."

"But… that's crazy. He'd have to either assume that you're just incredibly happy in my presence or that I love London—he knows nothing about me or us."

"Think about the conversations you've had with him. I know there's been more than one. Did you never once mention me at all?"

Rory paused to think. "Your name only came up when I thought you were the one saying good things about me at the Stamford office, and he said you'd never talked about me."

"We've talked about you since. He knows we were together, in some respect. I downplayed it, but I do that with him, when I talk about things that are important to me. He can read my cues."

Rory went shock still. "We talked about London. He said he'd just come back from London, at the party. You weren't there, because you were mad I brought Jess, and Honor took me over. I told him how much I loved London. We talked about _A Tale of Two Cities_ and how after I'd first read it, I'd used it to draw up a map of the places I wanted to see when I went there. I was ten when I first read it, and my mom had to explain to me that it'd be very different than the London that Dickens lived in."

He lifted a palm. "There you have it. He never forgets a thing."

She pressed her lips together. "Are you going to ask him?"

"I'm going to confront him. I'm going to let him know that I'm done with his options. And then I'm going to spend some time figuring out what I want my life to look like."

"That's a tall order," she said, not envying him at all. She had no idea what she'd do if she had to turn her back on what she'd always imagined her life to be.

"You know what? My father can wait. We're in London, and you've been telling me how much culture and energy the city has. Let's do it up right. What would you do, if you didn't have any restrictions?"

"No restrictions?" she echoed, many fabulous visions flashing in her mind's eye. "I've never really lived that way. I can't."

"I want you to right now, with me. Anything you want to do while we're here, I don't want either of us to have any regrets. I'm done with them," he said, his excitement contagious.

She bit her lip, not able to hold down the smile that formed. "Anything?"

He nodded, his smile a byproduct of the fact that she was coming around to his way of thinking. She could see him relaxing and noted that he was happier than she'd seen him possibly ever.

"I have a few ideas."

His expression proved that he knew she had more than a few vague ideas. "Let's hear them."

She waved a hand. "It's not even possible on a few hours' notice, I'm sure. It's like a dream evening, a perfect night in London."

"Now you're talking," he encouraged.

"I've always wanted to see a show at the Globe Theater. After leaving the theater, I'd take a stroll through Hyde Park and end up having dinner at The Ledbetter in Notting Hill," she finished, looking at him anxiously, ready for any kind of negative reaction. "But that's just an idea. You might have a better one."

"I've never spent time planning my perfect London evening. I want to do this for you, for coming with me, for last night and this morning, for all of it. I want you to have a perfect evening. Let's go back to the hotel and I'll make plans while you get ready. You can head down to the salon if you need to. I want you to feel amazing during your perfect night."

"Logan, that's too much," she protested. She could tell her concerns were falling on deaf ears. It seemed that walking away from his career wouldn't make him cash-poor overnight.

"Is it your perfect night in London?"

She nodded, wondering just how he'd get them in on such short notice or just how ungodly expensive her proposed activities would be. She kept quiet, because even though they were her ideas, he was too happy to bring down.

"Then let's make it happen."

-X-

He slipped out on the balcony, when he was sure he wouldn't be missed. Rory had slipped into the bathroom to get ready for their evening and she'd taken so much in with her, he didn't expect her out anytime soon. He'd decided to put off talking to his father. Mitchum wasn't expecting to hear from his son, and Logan had yet to blow off any meetings. As livid as he was, he had no intention of calling his father and risking the foul mood it would put him in. There were other messages he needed to get across first, considering it a preemptive strike.

"Hello, little brother. How's London?"

"I hear you're in Spain," he said calmly.

"If you ever read my email, you'd have known that before Rory told you."

"I prefer talking to her," he said, both offering the truth and jabbing at his sister.

"Just because she gives you sex. Which she wouldn't discuss, by the way."

"She has boundaries, unlike other people I know."

"Bah. So, to what do I owe the call? Advice? Girls love diamonds, even the ones that prattle on about the cruelty of the mines. Just give vintage. Not only is it huge right now, but the quality speaks for itself."

"I have no plans to purchase jewelry."

"In just what form are you planning to display your affection?"

"For starters, my time and attention."

Honor laughed. "Your attention span isn't worth anything."

"Believe it or not, I didn't call you for a pep talk."

"Where's your sense of humor?" she asked.

"Did you know about Dad's plans for me in London?"

"You're choosing between there and Boston, right?"

"Wrong. He wants me here, and he was counting on Rory's influence to aid my decision."

"He thinks having Rory thousands of miles away will be something to make you go to London permanently? Did you two have a fight?"

"She is the only thing I'm sure of at the moment."

"Logan, that's… does she know that?"

"I'm doing my best to make sure she knows that. Telling her isn't enough. I want to prove it."

"I don't even know who you are anymore. I'm impressed."

"There's more," he said, gearing up to put his plans through the first layer of Huntzberger disapproval.

"It is way too soon to propose to that girl. I don't care how effing romantic you think it might sound," she said firmly.

"I want to spend more time with her, not scare her away," he observed. "I do know a thing or two about her."

"So what else is there, Logan? I have Spanish waiters in tight pants awaiting my arrival at the pool."

"I'm not going to work in London or Boston."

"I wasn't aware Dad gave you a third option."

"He didn't."

"Logan Elias Huntzberger. Do not proceed any further, I mean it, don't say another word."

He didn't even hesitate for her comfort. "Honor, it's time."

"No. You can't. Dad will go apoplectic. Mom will have to go to a spa for a month, maybe more. Nothing will ever be the same again. Ever."

"That's exactly the idea. I don't want more of the same. It's killing me, you know that. If I keep trying to live up to Dad's plan, choosing London and giving up on Rory, it's just the first of many concessions I can't live with."

"You haven't even known her that long."

"I know I can't give up on it now."

"Fine, if you're so intent on keeping her in your life, have you thought about what this career choice will do to her?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's interning at one of Dad's papers, right?"

"You know she is," he said with a sigh. He hated that she knew too much about Rory, and he wondered what she knew that he didn't. Girlfriends told each other things that they didn't share with the men in their lives, that much was common knowledge, but in this case it felt uncomfortable in the way that horror movies made the main character uneasy. Trouble was around every corner, biding its time, waiting to jump out and attack.

"He'll have power over her first professional assessment, her first reference. What do you think he'll do to the woman who you threw it all away for?"

"I'm not doing it for her. She thinks I'm crazy for doing it too. She's the one that got me to wait, not to call him tonight."

"When are you calling him?"

"Monday, after we get back."

"So, you're still in the office while you're there?"

"I'm done, Honor. Effective immediately. I don't care about pissing him off. I'm not here to work anyway, just to get an idea of the place. I got a full picture today. I don't need more information."

"I think you should listen to Rory, wait. Honor you commitments until then. It can't hurt."

"I've made up my mind. I'm going to take Rory out tonight, and give her everything she deserves. Maybe we'll head to Paris for a couple of days after that. I'll figure everything else when I get back. I figured I'd let you know, so you can lie low for a while, if you want to stay out of the line of fire."

"I could stay in Barcelona a while longer, perhaps. Josh and I are going to Cabo next month, maybe I should just overlap the vacations."

"You don't need to stay out of the country completely," he said with an eye roll that he knew she could hear in his tone.

"I think it's for the best. In fact, you should consider it as well. Turn off your cell, go off the grid. He can't kill you if he can't find you."

"He's not going to kill me. He's going to disown me. He'd never disown you."

"Then I leave you with one last question. Which one is worse?"

That was a question he was willing to take a gamble on, because he knew for sure he'd find out the exact cost of his future happiness.


End file.
